Stolen Innocence
by Little Red Hood
Summary: When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie AU
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for mild swearing and blood.

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Jamie x Michael [AU]

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the major characters in this story. Michael Myers is the property of John Carpenter, Debra Hill, Dimension Films, and most recently, Rob Zombie. The lucky bastards.

**Author's Note:** For this story, I've decided to disregard the wacky Curse of Thorn and make Michael's problems psychological in nature. No, there won't be any incest or extreme squickiness between Michael and Jamie. Yes, the two will form a bond that will (hopefully) bring out some of The Shape's humanity. I'm going to use a pinch of Rob Zombie, a dash of John Carpenter, and a heaping spoonful of my own ideas. Hope you enjoy.

**Chapter One**

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_I think I see ghosts in the birch grove up the hill._

**-Judith Minty, "First Snow"**

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In the front row of a small second grade classroom, a little girl was frantically trying to copy down the math lesson her teacher was putting on the board. The girl kept chewing on a lock of her long brown hair because she was nervous. She hated math more than any other subject and the teacher talked almost too fast for her to keep up.

"Jamie, what would you have to subtract from one hundred and thirty to get ninety?"

Jamie Strode scrunched her nose up in concentration.

"Um...eighty-eight?"

"Close. Ninety. Now we add that to the dividend..."

The teacher droned on and Jamie did her best to pay attention. She glanced at the clock on the wall, which read 10:25. Jamie's lips quirked up in a smile, for recess was only five minutes away.

The teacher continued putting numbers on the chalkboard. At one point, she pressed down too hard with the chalk, causing it to make a painful squealing noise. Everyone winced.

"Oops! Guess I got carried away there?"

When the bell rang, Jamie could not have been more ready. Throwing her pencil down, she jumped out of her chair, shrugged on her jacket, and joined the line that was heading out to the playground.

The air outside was chilly. It was late October, just a week away from Halloween. Jamie sighed as her shoes squelched through wet, muddy ground on the way to the swing sets. All the other kids were picking out their costumes and getting ready for parties. All of them, except for Jamie. Her mother hated Halloween.

Boys and girls ran everywhere, laughing, yelling, bickering voices mixed together to form a high-pitched maelstrom of sound. Jamie avoided the kickball field and the merry-go-round, preferring to spend her free time in a quieter place. Shy and soft spoken, she had made only one close friend during her time at this school. Most of the other kids tended to avoid interacting with her, not because Jamie was mean or hateful, but because of the weird rumors going around about her mother's past. Of course her mother tried to pretend that those rumors didn't exist, but Jamie often heard them repeated in whispers at school.

_She's totally crazy. She chopped up her two best friends with the biggest butcher knife in the world._

_No, I heard that the boogeyman did it._

_There's no boogeyman, you idiot!_

_There is where she came from. _

Jamie plopped down on the swing that was the least dirty and kicked off. She wanted to leave the ground, leave the math lessons and annoying teachers and missed parties behind her.

"Hey, Jamie!" A little boy with sandy blonde hair and a big toothy smile came running up to her. It was Billy, one of the few friends that Jamie had. They'd met a year ago at a funeral for one of her mother's friends. Jamie had been scared to touch the coffin lid, imagining that doing so would make the ghost of the woman in the coffin angry. She'd cried and attempted to pull away from her mother, who'd been trying to convince her there was nothing to be afraid of. Then a freckled, blonde boy the same age as Jamie had marched straight up to the coffin and fearlessly smacked his hand down hard on the polished wood. He'd looked brazenly at Jamie, as if daring her to be so brave. She"d given in, not wanting to be a coward in front of the new boy. After the funeral, they'd talked a little and discovered they were both in the same first-grade class.

"My mom took me to pick out my Halloween costume last night! I'm gonna be a werewolf! What're you gonna be?"

"Nothing," Jamie mumbled sadly.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Billy said, his enthusiasm wilting like a dead weed. He sat down on the swing next to Jamie and dangled his feet. They sat in silence for a moment, then Billy said, "Maybe your mom will let you come to my Halloween party."

"Maybe," said Jamie, who didn't hold out much hope. Her mother wouldn't even let her leave the house on October 31st.

"Why does your mom hate Halloween so much?" They were both swinging now, the layers of rust making the chains squeal loudly.

"I don't know," Jamie looked down at her white shoelaces trailing in the mud, then over at Billy. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, then she whispered, as if confiding a deep secret, "I think she's scared of the boogeyman."

"There's no such thing," said Billy, who rolled his eyes but made sure Jamie didn't see it. Billy's parents were staunch atheists, refusing to acknowledge the existence of anything science couldn't prove, and were raising their son to be the same.

"I heard there was a boogeyman in the town where my mom grew up. Jenny and Paul were standing in the hallway talking about it once."

"Really?" Billy looked over at his friend, genuinely curious now. He liked ghost stories, even if he didn't believe in them.

"They say that if the boogeyman doesn't like you, he hides in your bedroom closet and waits till you fall asleep, then he comes out and cuts you into little pieces."

"No way!"

"I asked my mom if it was true but she wouldn't tell me," said Jamie, her voice rising slightly as it always did when she felt frustrated. Jamie knew that her mother kept secrets from her. The place where her mother had grown up had always been a forbidden subject. All Jamie knew was that it was called Haddonfield and that it was somewhere in Illinois. She also knew that her mother had been adopted, but wouldn't say or didn't know who her real parents had been.

And her mother was strange in other ways, not just in her unreasonable hatred of Halloween. She never left the house without taking a gun, as if she expected strangers to attack her wherever she went. Jamie knew that her mother collected guns and knives, she'd once seen her mother sorting through a shoebox full of Swiss Army knives, polishing and sharpening the dull ones. It made Jamie sad to think that maybe her mother didn't trust anyone, not even her own daughter.

Feeling a burst of angry energy, Jamie began to swing faster and higher. At the height of her swing, she could almost see over the edge of the metal fence that surrounded the playground. The trees back there were bare, most of the leaves having already fallen. The brown and black branches tangled up with each other, forming a spiderweb of dry wood.

Then Jamie saw a flash of another color, white. White like snow, with spots of black that could've been eyes and a mouth. Though the glimpse she got was blurry, the white moon face appeared to be looking right at her.

When Jamie swung up to look again, it was gone.

"Did you see that?"Jamie shouted. She strained her eyes, trying to find it again, but whatever she'd seen was definitely gone. Yet she was certain that something had been there. The last time Jamie had seen the doctor he'd said that her eyesight was excellent, she could spot deer from a mile away without binoculars

"What?" said Billy, who'd stopped swinging to look sideways at Jamie.

"There was something in the trees!" She pointed in the direction she thought the face had been. "It looked like a ghost!"

"Maybe it was the boogeyman!"said Billy teasingly. Sometimes he couldn't help but make fun of his friend's superstitions.

"That's not funny."

"C'mon. We have to go in anyway."

The teacher had already blown the whistle for everyone to come inside. Jamie ran to catch up with Billy, who had already gotten in line. As she ran, she couldn't help but look over her shoulder towards the grove of barren trees, trying to spot the pasty white face again, but nothing was there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for mild swearing and blood.

**Summary**: When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

**Disclaimer: **None of the major characters in this story are mine and I make no money whatsoever from them. Good enough?

**Author's Note**: In case anyone's wondering, I haven't forgotten about my other Halloween story, "Desperate Times." It's just that this one came to me almost fully formed and I'm pretty sure of the way I want it to end. So for the time being, this is my baby.

**Chapter Two**

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_No matter where you go, I will find you._

**- Clannad, "I Will Find You"**

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When the final bell rang, Jamie had already gathered up her homework. Slinging her pink Hello Kitty backpack over one shoulder, she headed out to the parking lot to wait for her mom.

"Bye, Jamie!" Billy waved to her as he got on the bus.

"Bye!" Jamie returned the wave, then stood on the curb to wait for her mother's van to pull up. Her mother was almost never late and so Jamie wasn't worried about having to wait long. Even so, something kept Jamie occasionally glancing over her shoulder to make sure there was a teacher in sight. The white face she had seen at recess today had frightened her more than she had realized.

_Ghosts aren't real._

_But what if they are?_

Lost in thought, Jamie almost didn't notice the black van as it pulled to a stop in front of her. Stepping down from the curb, Jamie opened the passenger side door and climbed in.

"Hey, sweetie!" Laurie Strode took one hand off the steering wheel and patted her daughter's shoulder affectionately, "How was school?"

"It was okay." said Jamie, who stared down at her lap.

"Everything allright?" Laurie could tell from her daughter's sullen tone of voice that something was bothering her. It wasn't hard to read Jamie's moods.

"Yeah," Jamie still hadn't looked up from her lap.

"C'mon, girl! Fess up! What is it?" said Laurie. They stopped at a red light and she turned to give her daughter her full attention.

Jamie sighed, and looking up, gave her mother the most pleading look she could muster, "I want to go trick-or-treating." Her voice rose higher, taking on a desperate pitch, "Please?"

Unsurprised, Laurie fixed her daughter with a stern frown, "Jamie, we've been through this. There are bad people out there that might hurt you." Traffic started up again, and Laurie was forced to turn her attention back to the road.

"But Billy goes every year and nothing bad happens to him!"Jamie knew she was whining now but she couldn't help it. It wasn't fair that everyone but her could have fun on Halloween!

"Jamie..." Her mother seemed at a loss for words. She focused on the shops and restaurants around them, and pulled into the Dairy Queen on the lefthand side.

"Wanna get some ice cream?"

"I want to go trick-or-treating as a princess." Jamie knew her mother was trying to distract her. Her mother had several different strategies for finding ways out of conversations she did not want to have. Distractions like this one had worked in the past but this time Jamie decided that she was not giving up.

"You're already a princess." said Laurie. She smiled at her daughter, which made Jamie blush. Laurie reached down and ruffled Jamie's hair, "You know I just want to keep you safe. I don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to you."

"I know." Jamie sighed, not knowing what else she could say to make her case that trick-or-treating wasn't dangerous. There was something else she wanted to ask her mother, something that had been on her mind ever since recess. She wasn't even sure if she should ask her mother this. It might ruin whatever slim chance she had of going out on Halloween, but she had to know.

"Mom, do you believe in ghosts?"

Jamie noticed her mother's body go rigid and her grip upon the steering wheel tighten. Had she said something wrong?

"Why do you want to know?"

Jamie began to pick at the buttons on her jacket nervously, "I thought I saw a ghost today."

"You saw a ghost?" Jamie now had her mother's complete and undivided attention. The look in the older woman's eyes frightened her. They were too bright, focused, intense.

"Jamie, this is very important. Tell me what you saw. Don't lie."

A little hurt that her mother thought she might lie about anything, Jamie described what she had seen as best she could. "It was at recess. I was on the swings with Billy and I saw something looking at me from across the fence. It was all white and looked like it had black eyes and a mouth."

"It looked _right at you_?" Her mother nearly shrieked the last three words, making Jamie flinch in surprise. She had never seen her mother look the way she did now. All color had drained from her face and the skin around her eyes seemed tight somehow.

"I - I think so."

Jamie watched in terrified fascination as her mother seemed to crumple in on herself. Resting her elbows on the dashboard, Laurie laid her head in her hands. Jamie heard her mother make noises that sounded like crying. Then Laurie straightened up, her eyes bright and determined, and pulled out of Dairy Queen fast enough to leave skid marks.

"He's found us. He's found us."

Jamie had no idea who her mother was talking about, but the fact that her mother was so afraid scared Jamie more than anything else. Laurie began to talk very fast as they pulled onto the road that lead to their house, "Jamie, when we get home, I want you to get a suitcase and grab some clothes. We have to leave."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know!" Laurie nearly shouted. "Just get whatever you want to take and get in the car!" Gravel crunched under the wheels as the car pulled into the driveway. The car was left running as Laurie threw herself out of the driver's seat and sprinted the short distance to the front door. She fumbled the house keys out of her purse and missed the lock several times before finally sliding the little piece of brass home. Jamie noticed her mom's hands were sweaty.

When the door swung open, Jamie grabbed hold of the railing and started to climb up the front steps, but her mother shook her head.

"Wait until I tell you to come in."

Jamie waited on the steps as her mother went inside. She was scared, she didn't know what was going on. Was there someone inside the house? Would her mommy be allright? A few tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes. She just wanted whatever her mommy was scared of to go away.

"Come on in!" Jamie ran up the short flight of stairs when she heard her mother call her.

Once she was inside the house, her mother still wouldn't let Jamie out of her sight. Whenever they entered a room, Laurie would automatically flip on every light. She looked in closets, behind curtains, even up on the ceiling. When they got to Jamie's bedroom, Laurie began dumping clothes out of the chest of drawers and into a small suitcase. Shirts, slacks, underthings, without even bothering to see if any of it matched.

A tiny goldfish swam in a bowl on the bedside table. It was Jamie's only pet.

"What about Sunny?"

"There's no time for that, Jamie. We have to leave now!"

Her mother grabbed Jamie by the hand and led her out of the room. Carrying the suitcase under one arm, Laurie bustled her daughter out the door and back into the car. Jamie fastened her seatbelt as her mother peeled out of the driveway and back onto the road. She could think of only one thing that might do this to her mother, one thing that might scare her badly enough to make her leave everything behind.

"Is the boogeyman after us, Mommy?"

Her mother didn't answer but kept on driving, speeding up when they hit the Interstate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for mild swearing and blood

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. So remember, no suing!

**Chapter Three**

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_Darkness creeps in like a thief_

_And offers no relief_

**-Peter Gabriel, "Come Talk To Me"**

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Jamie gasped softly as she woke up from a bad dream. Something dark, nasty, and with lots of teeth and claws had been chasing her through a maze. She'd run as fast as she could down glowing passages that seemed to go on forever, but she could never run fast enough. Every time she'd tried to hide, the thing would smell or see her and she'd be forced to run again. The dream had ended in the split second before the monster had been about to sink its claws into her back, leaving her feeling scared and confused.

It didn't help that Jamie couldn't quite remember where she was. Moonlight streamed in through the large windows, making the table and chairs cast thin shadows on the walls which Jamie's overactive imagination easily transformed into bony witch's fingers. The entire room seemed pale, misty, and unreal, making Jamie wonder if she were still dreaming. Then bits and pieces of past events began surfacing back into her conscious mind, the strange figure that had watched her on the playground at school, her mom saying that they had to leave town, the hotel they'd checked into. That was where they were now, she realized. And when she'd fallen asleep, Mommy had been laying right beside her.

_I'm safe._

Jamie sighed, preparing to drift back into sleep, when she noticed something that she was certain caused her heart to skip a beat.

The door to the walk-in closet was standing wide open.

_But I made sure Mommy closed it before we went to bed._

She rolled over, intending to snuggle closer to her mother, and instead looked up into a ghostly white face looming directly over her own. The face tilted to the side as her own eyes accidentally locked with it's pitch black ones. Jamie had time for only one terrified scream before one of the ghost man's hands clamped down hard over her mouth.

"Mommy!"

Jamie was lifted roughly out of the bed. One arm wrapped around the girl's stomach, pinning her up against something hard, while another hand raised a butcher knife.

Laurie had woken and thrown the covers off herself the second she'd heard her daughter scream. She snatched her .38 Special off the bedside table and pointed it with both hands at her psychotic brother, who was holding Jamie tight against his chest. The girl kicked and squirmed, making it harder for her mother to get a clear shot. With his human shield in place, Michael began edging toward the windows.

"Damn you, Michael! Let her go! I'm the one you want!" Laurie felt sick with fear as she watched Michael bring his knife close to Jamie's cheek.

Then Michael's arm swung up and back, and the knife became a silver blur as it flew across the room toward her. It hit Laurie in the left shoulder, embedding itself deep within her flesh. She cried out in pain and fumbled the gun, almost dropping it. Forcing herself to ignore the agony, Laurie raised the gun again, only to watch in horror as one of Michael's fists punched through a window behind him. With a shrieking Jamie clutched in his arms, Michael leapt through the shards of glass and down to the ground below.

"NO!" Laurie screamed, rushing to the window. She saw her brother running across an empty field. Taking a deep breath, Laurie stepped up onto the ledge and launched herself through the broken window.

The fall wasn't especially high, only ten feet at least, but it sent waves of throbbing pain through her injured shoulder. The knife was still in deep and blood was soaking her nightgown but she ignored it. All that mattered was finding her daughter.

"Jamie!"

She ran in the direction she had seen Michael take, praying to God she wasn't too late.

The sound of a car starting up made Laurie's breath catch in her throat. A cold chill began to work its way up from the base of her spine, wrapping itself tightly around her heart.

_"Jamie!"_

A pair of headlights were fast receding into the night. She watched the twin beams flicker among the trees on the other side of the field. She watched the lights grow fainter until they finally disappeared.

Laurie Strode fell to her knees, covered her face with her hands and began to sob uncontrollably. Her falling tears mixed with the blood dripping from her shoulder to form a small puddle of pain and grief on the cold, hard ground.

Jamie was gone, taken by a monster. And Laurie knew better than to expect to ever see her daughter alive again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating**: T for mild cursing and gore

**Disclaimer: **SHOW ME THE MONEY!!! Oh wait, I own nothing whatsoever that has to do with these characters, so you can't.

**Summary**: When Michael discovers he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

**Chapter Four**

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_It's a dark road and a dark way that leads to my house._

**-Annie Lennox, "Dark Road"**

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Jamie had curled herself into a little ball in the backseat of the car. She lay on her side, hugging herself and trying not to cry too loudly., not wanting to attract attention from the man in the driver's seat.

_The boogeyman._

She risked taking a peek at the mirror hanging above the dashboard. The face reflected in the glass stared straight ahead, focusing all its attention on the road. in the almost total darkness of the car, the face shone like the glow-in-the-dark skeleton Jamie had seen hanging in the front window of her neighbor's house. The dark pouting lips, curved eyebrows, and shadowy eyes contrasted eerily with the whiteness, making the face even more sinister and creepy.

_I want my mommy!_

That one desperate thought filled up the entirety of Jamie's world. Big tears once more began sliding down her cheeks and she sniffled louder than she'd meant to, causing the face in the mirror to glance at her in response.

She froze, too afraid to move or speak. Then, she felt the car pull over to the side of the road and heard the slam of a car door. Her eyes were shut tight but she could still hear the crunch of gravel under bootheels as the man came around to the backseat and opened her door. She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying not to cry.

She didn't see the man staring down at her, his head cocked as though trying to solve a tricky math problem. Jamie still lay on her side with her knees pulled up to her chest, her white nightgown dirty, torn, and flecked with spots of red from cuts she'd gotten when they'd gone through the window. A thick finger lightly brushed one of these spots on her upper arm and she flinched.

Then she felt a rough hand underneath her chin forcing her to look up. Her eyes flew open out of surprise and fear, revealing that scary white face floating very close to her own. She opened her mouth to scream and a large pill that tasted like chalk was shoved inside. The hand on her chin shifted slightly, clamping painfully around her jaw, forcing her to swallow. After the pill had gone down Jamie was released, just barely catching a glimpse through her teary eyes of the man stepping back and slamming the door.

It wasn't long before Jamie felt herself being tugged down into a deep, irresistible sleep.

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Michael Myers held the steering wheel tightly in both hands and listened. He couldn't hear his niece crying anymore, which meant that the Thorazine had already done its job. He'd snatched bottles of the sedative right before escaping from Smith's Grove. You never knew when it might come in handy.

He couldn't have missed overhearing those nurses talking about his sister. They'd been standing right outside his cell, as if taunting him. Hearing his sister's name almost sent him crashing about the room in rage, destroying the few items of furniture he was allowed to have. _Laurie! Laurie! LAURIE! Everyone loves Laurie! I loved her once and look what she did to me. She left me here to rot for fifteen goddamn years!_

Then they'd mentioned his sister had a child and he'd stopped fuming, wanting to hear every word. A little girl, seven years old. Very cute. Everything else in his mind vanished, and was replaced by a single, all-consuming thought.

_I have to get out. I have to find her. _

And so he had.

It was always easy to find his sister, no matter how far away she ran. He'd followed Laurie's car as she'd driven her daughter to school, wanting to see his little niece before doing anything else. When he'd caught sight of her on the playground, flying high on a rusty old swing, he'd felt a twinge of something painful inside him. It had been longing. For what exactly, he wasn't sure. The feeling had surfaced only for a moment before he'd buried it deep down once more.

Tracking Laurie and her daughter to the hotel had also been easy. He'd intended to kill the child in her sleep but she'd woken up and seen him. In the second before the girl had screamed, an even better idea had occurred to him. Not knowing if her daughter were alive or dead would be much worse for his sister. So he'd simply taken her. All thing's considered, this was probably the better plan. He'd be able to study his niece before he killed her. Keeping the child with him would be difficult, but he didn't have to keep her around for long, even if he was curious to learn more about her. No one would find them where they were going. And there'd be plenty of places to dispose of her body.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for mild swearing and gore

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I'm a hobo and I live in a trashcan.

**Summary**: When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

**Chapter Five**

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_Whatever my faults, I don't deserve this._

**-Elphaba Thropp, "Wicked"**

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After abandoning the car, Michael carried the unconscious girl to a log cabin settled deep in the forest surrounding Haddonfield. It had become his favorite hideout ever since he'd liberated it from its previous owners. The cabin was hidden in a part of the forest that was seldom visited, except by the occasional forest ranger. Pine, spruce, and oak trees grew tall and plentiful around the place, providing good cover even in October after most of the leaves had dropped off. Also, Michael had to admit, the trees were pretty to look at. He liked them the best at night, when the wind would sway the branches and make that whooshing rustling sound. He'd missed that sound during his time at Smith's Grove.

The inside of the cabin was completely dark, since the previous owners had apparently decided not to bother with electricity. The fact that Michael had boarded up the windows after claiming the cabin as his own also drastically cut down on the light level. This made no difference, since his eyes were already adjusted to darkness. He nimbly avoided tripping over the few items of furniture scattered about. A table and chairs, a few cabinets built into the walls above a tiny kitchenette and a pair of recliners were practically all the furniture that had been crammed into what Michael supposed had been the main living area. Michael figured that the married couple he had killed to get this place had either spent very little time here or else had been advocates of a rather Spartan way of life. Further back in the cabin was a bedroom and bathroom, the latter actually equipped with running water and a toilet. Apparently, there were some things that even a Spartan couldn't live without.

He carried his niece into the back bedroom and laid her down on the double-wide bed. He'd already ransacked the small chest of drawers shoved against the far wall, finding nothing useful there except a stash of candles and matches. He selected a white, tapered candle, lit one of the matches, and touched it to the end of the wick. Setting the candle down on the bedside table, Michael examined the face of his niece in the flickering light.

She had a sweet face, with well rounded cheeks and a small nose. Her mouth was slightly open, he could just barely hear the soft sound of her breathing. Dark bangs fell down in front of her eyes, making a small curtain of hair. Michael brushed it aside and saw that her cheeks were still red and puffy from crying, there was still a little moisture around her eyes, as if she'd been crying even in sleep. He wasn't sure what he felt, if anything. His left hand started to close around the handle of the knife in his pocket.

Then the girl gasped softly and her eyes fluttered open. Michael saw that they were deep black, just like his.

His niece turned her head from side to side, clearly confused by the unfamiliar surroundings, then her doe eyes widened in fear when they focused on the dark, silent figure standing just feet away from her. Pulling the covers up around her shoulders so that her face was almost covered, she said in a small, scared voice, "Are you the boogeyman?"

Lunging forward, Michael ripped the covers away from her and laid one rough hand firmly on her chest, pinning her down. The girl screamed and tried to push his hand away, but he was much stronger than her. His other hand raised the six-inch long blade, preparing to stab it down into he girl's stomach.

Choking back sobs, fully expecting to die, the girl cried in a quavering, child's wail, "Mr. Boogeyman, why do you hate me? What did I do wrong?"

Michael stopped, and slowly lowered the knife. He didn't remove his hand from her chest, in case the child tried to escape. The question triggered something in him, something that had been deeply buried, a memory...

_He had been five years old. His sister Judith had locked herself in the bathroom again. Michael had been pounding on the door, yelling at her to come out._

_"What did I do?"_

_"Go away, retard! I hate you!" Her voice coming through the door had been harsh, spiteful._

_"You won't even tell me what I did!"_

_"You really wanna know? Fine!" What she had said next had crushed his already bruised soul._

_"You were born!"_

_Michael had run crying to his room, slamming the door as hard as he could, and had not come out again for the rest of the night._

Michael felt as if he'd been doused with cold water and electrocuted for good measure. Normally, when he killed, he didn't bother to think much about what he was doing. Now that he was actually focusing on the helpless little girl, he found the act of actually killing her...unacceptable.

Removing his hand from his niece's chest. he allowed her to scurry away from him. She scooted to the other side of the bed, wrapped her arms around her knees, and rocked herself in a whimpering huddle. He watched her, this small, terrified, innocent child who had no idea who he was, who seemed to think he was some kind of monster, and realized that she hadn't done anything to him worth dying for, except for just having the bad luck to have been born to the sister he hated.

_Kill her now, and she'll never have the chance to hurt me._

But at the moment, he couldn't do it.

Sliding the knife back into his pocket, Michael sat down on the edge of the bed and folded his hands in his lap. His niece was still cowering as far away from him as she could get., sniffling and covering her face with her hands. With the lacy sleeves of her nightgown pulled back slightly, Michael could clearly see the small, shallow cuts on her arms caused by the broken window at the hotel.

Rising from the bed, Michael found his way into the small bathroom. Working by candlelight, he rummaged through the cabinets above the sink until he found something that smelled like rubbing alcohol. After that, he grabbed a soft, flower patterned washcloth from the racks and held it under the sink until it was saturated with warm water. Then he headed back into the bedroom.

The girl hadn't moved. He climbed onto the bed and crawled over to her. She backed away until she ran up against the headboard, crying pitifully, "No, no, no!" It didn't take much effort to pry her small hands away from her face, revealing her tearstained cheeks and big, black eyes that were now sore and puffy.. She turned her head to the side, not wanting to see the death she thought was coming. Michael held both her wrists in one hand and with the other began to gently wipe her face with the washcloth.

The girl trembled, but seemed to realize that what Michael was doing wasn't killing her. He continued cleaning her face, removing the tears from her cheeks, and wiping the crust from around her eyelids. Turning his attention back to the cuts on her arms, he began wiping away the dried blood. Then, laying the washcloth aside, he risked letting go of the girl's arms so he could remove the lid from the bottle of rubbing alcohol. She stayed still, apparently confused by this change in her captor's behavior. Once the lid was off, Michael began sprinkling drops of the antiseptic over her cuts. She gave a little hiss of pain as the liquid stung, but didn't try to pull away. As he worked on one arm, Michael softly stroked the other, trying to keep his niece calm.

It was as much of an apology as he could give her.

After all her cuts were cleaned and medicated, Michael laid the alcohol and antiseptic on the nightstand, and continued to watch his niece. She was sniffling, but no longer crying. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, big, wet, dark orbs that stirred something inside her uncle. Somewhere inside his cold heart, Michael thought he felt pity for the frightened creature.

Snot was running down the side of her nose. She started to wipe it away with the back of her hand. Michael shook his head and handed her the washcloth. She hesitated a moment, then accepted it.

When she was done wiping away the tears and snot, she looked up at him, whispering a barely audible, "Thanks."

Though she'd been drugged for hours, the girl was far too emotionally and mentally drained to stay awake much longer. Michael laid his hand on her chest, not roughly this time but just to urge her to lie back down. He pulled the heavy blue coverlet up around her shoulders and placed one hand on her trembling back, rubbing gently. Although he tried to push the memory away, he could recall doing something like this for his baby sister, back when she'd been small and he'd loved her.

It took a while for the girl to give up and let sleep take her once more. Michael watched her for a while afterward, noticing how peaceful she looked in sleep, then got up and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Stolen Innocence

**Rating**: T for mild swearing and blood.

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU}

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Don't sue me.

**Author's Note:** I got teary writing this chapter. Poor Laurie. She doesn't deserve what I'm putting her through.

**Chapter Six**

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_Honey, you've gotta be strong for me and for your daughter. _

_I can do absolutely nothin' without your faith in this world and your love for the children._

**-Tangina Barrons, "Poltergeist"**

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Laurie lay on her back in the hospital bed, staring at the television on the ceiling without really seeing it. Instead, she kept seeing the terrified look in her daughter's eyes as she'd struggled in Michael's arms. When she slept, or more accurately when she was forced to sleep by the drugs the nurses gave her, she'd see images of Jamie. Jamie gagged and bound to a chair, whimpering as strips of her sensitive skin were peeled away. Jamie with a ragged hole in her belly and her intestines exposed, dying slowly on some cold basement floor. She'd see her baby girl mutilated in a dozen different ways and in the background Michael would always be standing over her, nonchalantly wiping her blood from his knife.

It had only been two nights since her brother had taken her daughter, Two nights that already felt like twenty years. She barely remembered staggering into the hotel lobby, screaming for help. _He's got my daughter! Somebody help me! _If she tried hard enough, she could just barely remember the weightless feeling of being lifted and then strapped down to a gurney, the concerned paramedics hovering over her, the sting of the IV drip being inserted into her arm. She'd lost so much blood she'd needed an immediate transfusion. When she'd arrived at the hospital, surgeons had removed the knife from her shoulder and stitched the wound, though she wouldn't have full use of her arm for several weeks.

State police had visited her after she'd recovered enough to talk. She had recounted for them everything that had happened at the hotel, watching as one officer would occasionally make notes on a clipboard. They had informed her that hotel security had done a thorough search of the grounds but had turned up nothing. There were no fingerprints, blood, or hair to connect Michael Myers to the crime scene. Jamie's description had been given to every officer on patrol and published in the local newspaper. They assured Laurie they were doing everything they could to find her daughter.

Laurie doubted it would be enough.

She snapped out of her grim thoughts as the door to her room slid open and a nurse carrying a tray of food walked in.

"Suppertime!" she said in such a cheery tone of voice that Laurie wanted to knock her unconscious.

"I don't want anything."

"Just eat what you can. You need to keep your strength up," After checking Laurie's chart and reason for admittance, the nurse became considerably more somber. She touched Laurie's hand lightly, saying softly, "Just eat what you can." Then she left, leaving Laurie to stare darkly at the food in front of her. There was a brown runny sludge that looked as if it was supposed to be Salisbury steak, along with white lumps of mashed potatoes and a cup of yellow substance that could maybe pass for banana pudding.

_God, I hate hospital food._

The door opened again and the same nurse appeared, this time with a man standing in the shadows behind her, "You have company."

The man stepped forward, revealing the old, wrinkled face of Dr. Sam Loomis.

He looked almost the same as the last time Laurie had seen him, except there were dark circles under his eyes to show he hadn't been sleeping well. She also thought his beard had grown out more. It hung in a tangled gray mess down his chin. He still wore the same long beige coat and tie that made him look more like a detective than a doctor. His cane tapped across the floor as he came to stand by her bed.

"Laurie, are you allright?" His voice was soft and a little scratchy, just like Laurie remembered it, "Forgive me, that's a stupid question. I know you're not allright, but are you in pain?"

"Not from my shoulder."

"Poor girl," said Loomis. Seeing a straightbacked wooden chair that had been pushed to one corner of the room, he dragged it over by Laurie's bed and sat down on the padded seat. His eyes were kind, patient, "You've been through so much."

"Why didn't you tell me he was out?" Laurie couldn't keep the anger from her voice. Sam Loomis was the only one besides herself that truly knew what Michael was capable of and for him not to have given her some sort of warning that her brother was on the loose was unforgivable.

"He escaped almost two weeks ago," Loomis admitted, bowing his head slightly. "Killed two nurses and stole an ambulance." He squeezed his eyes shut at the horrible memory, then opened them again. "I wanted to tell you immediately but I had no idea where to find you. You left me no contact number or address. Add to that the fact that you've been using an assumed name for almost a year. How was I supposed to get in touch with you?"

Laurie pressed the palms of her hands against her forehead, trying to massage away the ache there. She couldn't look Loomis in the eye, not wanting him to see that she was fighting back tears.

"I just wanted to leave Haddonfield and start over. Have a normal life with my daughter."

"I know," Laurie nearly lost the iron control she was keeping on her tear ducts when she heard the genuine sorrow in those two words.

"He'll take her back to Haddonfield, " Laurie couldn't bring herself to say the words _if he keeps her alive_ out loud.

"I assure you that the Haddonfield police department is aware of the situation. Sheriff Meeker has units watching the Myers house round the clock. Patrolmen are on the streets every night, checking all possible leads."

"That doesn't make me feel any better. Haddonfield cops are idiots," Laurie knew she was being unfair, but right now she could care less. "If he hurts Jamie, I'll kill him. I swear I will!" Laurie clenched her fists. Her eyes turned cold and hard. "I'm getting out of here tomorrow. I don't care what the doctors say. I'm going to find my daughter."

Loomis nodded. He took a deep breath, then reached out and touched Laurie's hand, stroking the knuckles softly, "There's still hope, Laurie. He could've killed you when you were just a baby but he didn't. Think about that."

Laurie's gaze stayed fixed on her lap, but she nodded her head slightly. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"No."

Loomis got up, giving her hand one final squeeze, and headed for the door.

"Wait, there is something!" Laurie finally looked up and she was sure Loomis could see the wetness brimming around her eyes. She barely kept her voice from breaking as she said, "Could you stop by my house and....feed Jamie's goldfish?"

"Of course."

After Loomis had left with the keys and directions to her house, Laurie let the mask drop. She rolled over and cried into her pillow, barely noticing when the nurse returned to cart away her tray of untouched food.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Stolen Innocence

**Rating**: T for mild swearing and blood

**Summary**: When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

**Disclaimer:** How many different ways can I say that I don't own the characters in this story? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsiepop? The world may never know.

**Author's Note:** I hope I did things right in this chapter. I wanted to keep Myers and Jamie in character, but I didn't want Mikey to go all nuts and kill her, and I didn't want Jamie to be so scared she couldn't talk to him. She's one brave little girl, after all.

**Chapter Seven**

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_"Doll, doll," I called her. That was what she was. A magic doll._

**-Louis de Pointe du Lac, "Interview With The Vampire"**

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Jamie had no idea what time it was when she rose up out of a sleep that had been mercifully dreamless. A little beam of sunlight had managed to find its way through the boarded up window next to her bed, making a warm yellow circle close to her face. She laid in bed with her eyes closed for a long time, trying to hear the world around her without really seeing it. She couldn't hear any footsteps or voices, nothing to indicate that she wasn't alone. After about fifteen minutes of intense listening, she risked opening one eye and peeked out from beneath the tangled covers.

She was alone. Candles were still burning around her bed. A couple stood on the bedside table, others had been placed on shelves and ledges built into the walls. The whole room smelled of burning wax with a faint hint of vanilla. All of the walls and even the floor seemed to be made out of logs stacked on top of each other. It made Jamie think of the inside of a tree, that she'd been caught by forest spirits and stuffed inside giant, hollow roots.

Jamie knew she'd been caught by something or someone but she didn't know who had taken her or why. She shivered when she thought of what had almost happened last night. The white faced man had been about to hurt her, kill her, but then had stopped when she'd cried. Then he'd acted like he was sorry, cleaning her up and even tucking her in bed. Jamie didn't know what to think of his actions. She was terrified of him but another part of her, the inquisitive streak that had led her mother to give her the affectionate nickname of "wide-eyed wonder girl," wanted to know if he really was a monster.

_Curiosity killed the cat._

That thought immediately brought her back to the harsh reality of her situation. She needed to move, to get up and figure things out. Upon shifting her legs slightly under the covers, Jamie became aware of a weight pressing down on her feet. It wasn't heavy, just a little uncomfortable. Daring to pull the covers down even further, Jamie propped herself up on the pillows and saw that it was a pile of clothes. After taking a quick look around the room, she noticed that on the bedside table was a glass vase full of fake pink roses that she was pretty sure hadn't been there last night.

Reaching out, she grabbed hold of the edge of the pile, pulling the clothes closer to her. There were a few dresses and sweaters, a few pairs of jeans, even a couple pairs of underwear. At the bottom of the pile were a tangle of threadbare white socks that looked as though they might unravel just from being touched. None of it matched and Jamie doubted that any of it would fit right, but she couldn't keep wearing her tattered white nightgown. Whoever had left the clothes there had clearly meant for her to try them out.

The first sweater she tried on might have successfully concealed an overweight elephant. The cotton fabric draped over her body like a curtain, with sleeves that dragged on the floor and a hem that begged her to trip over it when she walked. Worst of all, it was lime green. Jamie was just about to take the monstrosity off when the bedroom door opened.

Standing in the candlelight was the man that had brought her here. Now that her eyes weren't blurry with tears, she noticed things about him that she hadn't before. He wore a dark, rumpled suit with a high collar. The coarse fabric was stained in several places with brown splotches that could've been mud or something else. His face was only a pale white glow in the dim light but what frightened Jamie more than that was his slow, heavy breathing. The girl stood frozen, certain that her heart had actually stopped beating and that she was seconds away from fainting, but the man just stood there with his arms hanging limply at his sides. When Jamie noticed that neither of his hands held a butcher knife, she managed to start breathing again. They stared at each other for almost a minute, the little girl and the tall, silent shape, whose only sign of emotion came from the eyes behind the mask. Those eyes now appeared round and bright, as if surprised. After taking a quick glance at herself, Jamie realized that he wasn't staring at her alone, but also at the enormous sweater that threatened to swallow her whole.

Jamie felt her cheeks grow hot. She hadn't realized how totally silly she must look until now. Raising her arms so that the sleeves flapped in all their pathetic glory, she mumbled, "It doesn't fit."

The man gave a little nod, turned, and shut the door.

Feeling more confused than ever, Jamie resumed trying on outfits as a way to take her mind off the strangeness around her. There was a pretty lavender dress that she would have worn but it, like the sweater, was much too big for her small frame. She settled on a pretty white dress with a forest green vest and wide, puffy sleeves. It was a little tight across her chest but it was one of the few items of clothing that was close to her size. She pulled off the sweaty, muddy socks she'd been wearing and pulled on a pair of the clean white ones. It was only after she'd gotten the socks on that Jamie realized she had no shoes.

She didn't know what to do now, so she sat down on the bed and waited for something to happen. Soon enough, the door opened and the same man was standing there, tall, silent, and mysterious as ever. Gathering up every crumb of courage she could find, Jamie stood up straight and managed to stammer out,

"H-H-Hello?"

No response, just a silent tilt of the head. Jamie was reminded of the way a dog will sometimes look at a human when it was really trying to understand human words, but just couldn't quite make sense out of all the weird sounds. She went on, needing to fill the silence with something other than the sound of his breathing and her own pounding heart.

"Who are you?"

He didn't answer. Maybe he wanted to know her name first.

"I'm Jamie."

Still no answer, just slow, deep breaths. Jamie jumped when the man started to move, but all he did was point his right index finger at her throat, then at his. After pointing at his throat, he would drag the side of his hand across it in a slashing gesture. He repeated this several times before Jamie guessed what he was trying to say.

"You can't talk?"

The man shook his head no.

"Why not?" she asked in a soft voice. She didn't want to sound mean or rude, not to the frightening stranger in front of her, but only curious. Then she realized how stupid it was of her to expect an answer. If he couldn't talk, then she couldn't expect him to tell her why he couldn't talk, at least not with spoken words.

"Sorry," she said, shuffling her feet and looking down nervously.

The man took a step toward her and she took an automatic step back. He raised his hand and Jamie cringed, afraid she'd see the business end of a knife, but instead saw the chubby round face and glassy blue eyes of a baby doll. It's frilly pink dress was falling apart, hanging in shreds over the doll's arms and legs. The hair looked as though someone had gone at it with a pair of scissors, huge chunks were missing in some places. Jamie suspected that it had been pulled out of a trashcan somewhere. The man offered it to her without speaking.

"Is...Is that for me?" she asked, surprised by the unexpected gift.

The man nodded.

Moving very slowly, like a wild animal accepting food from a human for the first time, Jamie reached out to take the doll from his hand. There was no way she could avoid touching the tip of one of the man's fingers as her own hand closed around the small plastic body. She thought she saw the eyes beneath the mask widen a little at the unexpected contact. Once the doll was in her hands Jamie jumped backwards quickly, half expecting to have her wrist seized in the man's unbreakable grip, but all he did was watch her retreat, tilting his head in that doglike way of his. She looked down at the plastic girl clutched in her hands. It wasn't the prettiest doll she'd ever seen, but her captor was being nice to her, so she decided that it couldn't hurt to be nice back.

"Th-thank you," she said in a quiet, shy voice.

Looking at the sorry state of the doll's blonde fuzz reminded Jamie of her own tangled mop of dark brown hair. It hung down her back in knots and snares, while a few pieces near the top of her head stuck out at spiky angles. She ran a hand through the mess absentmindedly, coming into contact with a particularly stubborn snag, and began trying to work it out with her fingers. All the while she continued to look at the wooden floor, not needing to see his face to know that the man was still watching her. Then she heard the click of bootheels and realized that the man was walking away. Looking up, she saw the man glance at her over his shoulder expectantly, giving a slight jerk of his head. Jamie realized that he wanted her to follow him.

Holding the doll to her chest with both hands, Jamie followed the man down a dark hallway and into what turned out to be a small bathroom. Candles flickered in holders on the sink and reflected into the mirror above it, bathing the room in an eerie half-light. Jamie gulped as the man moved behind her while she stood facing the polished mirror. By watching only his reflected image in the mirror, she saw him pick up a small silver hairbrush that had been laying by the sink. She felt the bristles pull through the tangles as he began running the brush through her hair. He did it slowly, as though he were afraid of hurting her, or just because this was something he had never done before. Jamie stared straight ahead without moving or taking her eyes off what she could see in the mirror. When the brush became snagged in a thick knot, he laid it aside and began trying to work the knot out with his own fingers. When she felt his fingers moving in her hair Jamie jumped a little in surprise, but the man ignored it and continued pulling out the matted strands until the knot came loose. After a few more minutes of gentle brushing, Jamie had relaxed enough to where she could close her eyes and pretend that it was her mother brushing her hair, just like she did every morning before taking Jamie to school.

When her hair was once again smooth and hanging in pretty brown waves down her back, the man placed his hands on Jamie's shoulders and turned her around. He studied her without speaking while Jamie pulled on a ribbon sewn into her dress, too nervous to meet his eyes. Apparently satisfied with his work, the man turned and, after giving another head jerk command for Jamie to follow him, began walking back to her bedroom.

"Mr. Boogeyman?"

The man turned around slowly, so slowly that Jamie's courage nearly failed her when she saw his eyes focus on stood in the hallway holding her doll, unable to tell exactly what was going on behind those dark, scary eyes.

But she had to ask this question. She had to know why.

"Did I do something wrong? Is that why I'm here?"

The man didn't hesitate, but immediately shook his head. _No._

"Can I go home?"

This question caused the man to visibly tense up. Worried, Jamie looked away and clutched the doll in her arms even tighter.

Finally, the man gave a sharp jerk of his head. _No._

Jamie bowed her head, not wanting him to see her cry again. The man took a single step towards her, then stopped. After wiping away the traitor tears that marked her as just a scared little girl, despite the brave face she was trying to put on, she looked up into those dark eyes once more.

"I'm really kind of hungry." she whispered, hoping that the man wasn't mean enough to let her starve.

He nodded, then darkness swallowed him up as he walked slowly down the hallway, leaving Jamie standing alone. She heard the sound of a heavy door being shut, accompanied by several locks clicking into place. Her captor had left, hopefully to go on a quest to find her something to eat. Cradling the abused doll in her arms, Jamie went back into her bedroom, sat down on the edge of the bed, and waited to see what he'd bring her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for mild swearing and blood

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

**Disclaimer**: I'm running out of witty disclaimers so I'm just gonna resort to shameless groveling. Please! Please! Please, don't sue me! I own nothing! Take the copyright and run!

**Author's Note**: Let me know how I did with this chapter. It was fun to write but a little hard at times. Just like most of them are.

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

_Rodents Of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist._

**-Westley, "The Princess Bride"**

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Taking care of the little girl was proving to be just as difficult as Michael had feared. Whenever he felt it was safe to leave his niece by herself, he would walk for miles through the forest until he came to the road that led into Haddonfield. While there, he would do a little bit of "shopping." Finding clothes and small gifts for her wasn't the main problem. Toys could easily be found abandoned on sidewalks, in backyards, or even in dumpsters and clothes could sometimes be found hanging on lines. It was finding food she could eat that was the main challenge. Michael knew enough about children to know that they would not eat live rats unless on the point of starvation.. Michael himself had never thought of rats as edible until the first time he'd broken out of Smith's Grove and had gotten so hungry that even sewer vermin had tasted like gourmet fare. Sometimes he could steal food from picnics, the first thing he'd gotten for her was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that a little boy had left on a park bench. Once he had grabbed a McDonald's bag of french fries and chicken nuggets that someone had left in their car. Twice now he had been forced to break into unoccupied houses during the day just so he could raid their fridge. He traveled through the sewers as much as he could on these forays into town to avoid the police, though he was confident he could deal with them if he had to. So far he'd been able to keep her reasonably well-fed. He knew that all he had to do to put an end to the problem was slit her throat in her sleep, but something continued to hold him back.

_Can I go home?_

Michael could remember asking his psychiatrist that very same question two weeks after he had been admitted to the sanitarium.

_Can I go home today?_

_Not today, Michael. You've done terrible things._

His niece hadn't done anything wrong, and yet here she was being held somewhere against her will. The little girl couldn't know that the one holding her remembered exactly what it felt like to be a prisoner, the loneliness, the rage. Michael guessed that those memories were what kept him from killing her, though they didn't have the power to make him want to let her go.

The first day they were together had been spent mostly in awkward silence. She had eaten the sandwich he'd brought her slowly, often glancing up to see if she were being watched. He would always watch her, though he would try to stay hidden around corners or in shadows. He'd already found out a few things about her. He'd learned that her name was Jamie, an odd name but one he supposed he could live with. She had a tendency to bite her lip or chew on a strand of hair when she was nervous, she was shy and would very rarely make eye contact, and she would often sing softly to herself when she believed she was alone. It amused him to discover that whenever she thought he wasn't paying attention, she would watch him with just as much curiosity. sometimes trailing him from room to room in an attempt to be as silent and stealthy as he was.. He encouraged this little game, finding it to be an entertaining way to pass the time.

Today had been a good day, for he had managed to bring back several things that he thought she might like. He pushed the heavy front door open with his shoulder while carrying two large plastic shopping bags in each hand. After setting the bags on the kitchen table, he went back to reset all the locks built into the door. The people that had lived here before had certainly tried to make their home secure, not that it had done them much good in the end. They now rested in two shallow graves far away from their former home, the man with a smashed skull oozing liquefied brain matter, the woman bled dry from the gash in her throat. She had died quickly, her husband hadn't been so lucky.

Once he had finished with the locks, he picked up the bags and walked down the hall to Jamie's room. He pushed open the door, expecting to find her asleep or maybe playing with the toys he'd gotten her.

She wasn't there.

Michael experienced a second of surprise, followed by a frantic mental review of every other place in the tiny cabin that she could be. She wasn't in the kitchen, he would've seen her when he'd come in. She wasn't in the sitting room that branched off from there either. So where...?

"Hi."

The voice came from right behind him. Michael spun around and saw his niece, wearing a pretty blue dress that actually seemed to fit, looking down at the ground in front of her. She had a small smile on her face and was doing her best to hide it. Michael hadn't been caught off guard like this in a long time. How did she...?

Then he knew. She had been in the bathroom when he'd come in and had waited for her chance to surprise him, unable to resist a golden opportunity when she saw one. Little sneak.

He raised his eyebrows under his mask. She was learning how to be silent and stealthy from watching him. This realization kind of pleased him. He'd teach her a thing or two, but not right now.

After motioning for Jamie to follow him, he walked back into her bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed. Some of the candles had finally burned out, plunging parts of the room into deep shadow while others were still revealed by the surviving candles inconstant, wavering light. Michael patted the spot on the bed next to him, a clear invitation for Jamie to come sit. She approached him slowly, still wary of his intentions, but did as she was told. She arranged herself on the bed beside him with her legs crossed and hands neatly folded in her lap, keeping about a foot of space between the man next to her. Only half of his face was visible, the candlelight lit part of his face with dancing, golden flickers, the rest was hidden in darkness.

Michael reached into the largest of the two bags, pulled out a rumpled baloney sandwich, and set it down in the space between them. Jamie stared for a moment, then picked the sandwich up and began nibbling. Going into the bag a second time, Michael pulled out a can of 7-Up and set it on the bedside table. Jamie was now taking large bites out of her sandwich, feeling hungrier than what she'd previously thought. Michael watched her finish the sandwich, then reached into the bag a final time and brought out a plastic tray of chocolate chip cookies. He set it down in her lap and Jamie's mouth dropped open slightly, her dark eyes growing big and round. She gave her captor a confused, shy little glance that Michael found amusing, then tore open the plastic and began gobbling the sweet treats.

When she was on her third cookie, Jamie paused and looked over at the silent man beside her. "Do you want one?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head no, a little surprised that she'd asked.

Jamie shrugged her shoulders and kept on eating. She ate half the cookies before pushing the rest away from her. "Thank you,"

Michael reached behind his back and took hold of the second plastic bag. He held it open for Jamie, who hesitated, then put her hand inside.

She pulled out a polished wooden box. Setting it in her lap, she lifted up the lid and Michael noted with satisfaction how her eyes widened when she saw what was inside. Sparkling crystal rings, delicate gold and silver bracelets, and even a diamond necklace reflected tiny spots of light onto her face as she picked through them. Tiny gears inside the box began to turn and a soft melody began to play, clear, bell-like notes that seemed preternaturally loud in the silent cabin. Michael had found the jewelry box in a woman's bedroom and had taken it on a whim., unsure if it was something a little girl would like but stealing it anyway. Jamie picked up the diamond necklace between her thumb and index finger. The jewel managed to catch the dim candlelight and break it into a million tiny rainbows. While Jamie stared wonderingly at the necklace, Michael stood up and left the room, making as little noise as he could. Eventually his niece would come looking for him, and he wanted to show her something while at the same time pay her back for the way she had startled him earlier.

He knew from prior exploration that there was a small crawlspace built into the ceiling of the hallway that led off to Jamie's bedroom. Partially concealed by a wooden panel, the space had likely once served as an attic, though Michael had found nothing hidden in it except cobwebs and dust. The area would have been accessible to most people only by stepladder. Michael, however, had a special trick for getting into such places. In a movement as familiar to him as breathing,, he slid back the wooden panel and grabbed onto the ledge of the crawlspace with one hand and hoisted himself up.. Once in position, he waited patiently for Jamie to appear below him.

He didn't have to wait long. In a few moments Jamie was standing almost directly beneath his hiding place. She shook her head as if confused, wondering where her strange kidnapper had gotten off to. Using one arm, he silently lowered himself down behind her.

He couldn't prevent the loud thump as his boots hit the floor. Jamie spun around, let out a little _eep!_ of surprise, then tripped over her own feet and fell backwards. She landed in a little heap and stared, wide-eyed, at the masked man who had somehow appeared behind her. In a voice soft and curious, she asked, "How did you do that?"

Michael bent down, took hold of Jamie under her arms, and lifted her up so she could see the ledge above the door. She put one hand on the ledge, "Oh, but how did you get up there?"

A mischievous idea occurred to him. After taking hold of Jamie's other hand and placing it on the ledge, he released his grip on her arms so that the girl was left hanging by her fingertips. Before she could panic, he lifted himself up next to her by one hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist, keeping her from falling.

Jamie giggled, batting cobwebs out of her hair. The crawlspace was dusty and dark, with whatever light that managed to get inside quickly fading away into inky blackness. "It's creepy up here," said Jamie. "I wonder what - "

Jamie was cut off mid sentence as a small, dark shape dislodged itself from the rest of the darkness and streaked towards them. Michael heard squeaking, then saw the biggest rat he had ever seen, and he had come across some very large specimens, scramble up his niece's arm and sink its claws in. Jamie waved her arm around, trying to shake it loose, but the little monster refused to let go. Michael lowered them both to the ground and grabbed Jamie's arm roughly, forcing her to hold still. He seized the rat by its long tail and threw it hard against the wall. It bounced off and rolled onto all fours, continuing to squeak furiously as it darted into a crack and disappeared.

Still holding onto his niece's arm, Michael dropped down on his knees to check her more closely. She was crying, a little hysterical, but Michael could see nothing on her arm except some small scratches and very little blood. She would be fine, and he patted her shoulder to tell her so.

Moving quickly, so quickly that Michael had no idea what she was doing before it was too late, Jamie threw her arms around his neck and hid her face in his chest.

He reacted instantly, shoving Jamie away from him and scooting back until he was pressed against the wall. He glared at the girl, and his hand dipped into the pocket that held his knife, his fingers settling lightly upon the handle.

Michael had never really understood what "kicked puppy look" meant until he stared into his niece's face just then. Her lip was trembling, big tears were burning red trails down her cheeks, and her eyes were huge, bright, and filled with hurt. Michael released his grip on the knife, feeling annoyed with the girl but also with himself. She was a child, no threat to him whatsoever, and he'd acted like she was a schoolyard bully about to strangle him.

Sliding over to the little girl, he laid his hands on her shoulders and pried her arms away from hugging her knees. She closed her eyes tight, expecting a slap or something worse, but instead felt the coarse fabric of his suit as Michael placed her hands on his own shoulders. His other hand held her against his chest, offering silent encouragement for her to hug him again. After a moment, her grip around his neck tightened, which made his heart race and his hands get moist with sweat, but he forced himself to ignore this and focus on the hug itself.

Michael remembered times in his childhood when he had been pushed, punched, slapped, bitten, kicked, and even stomped on but recalled only a very few occasions when he had been hugged. His mother, unlike so many of her lowlife boyfriends, had never hurt him physically, but rarely had she found the time to cuddle or comfort him. So most of the physical contact he had felt throughout his life was violent and painful, which was why he reacted so negatively to anyone who tried to touch him, but what Jamie was doing to him now wasn't like that. After a few more moments, Michael concluded that letting Jamie hug him was acceptable and...kind of nice. Comforting, even.

He allowed the hug to last for a few more minutes before pulling away from her, feeling a little shaken but unharmed and very proud that he had been able to control himself. It had been an unusual experience but a rather pleasant one. He wouldn't mind doing it again.

When night fell, Michael stood silently in the doorway of Jamie's bedroom and watched her finish the rest of the cookies. He didn't tuck her in but just watched as she curled into a little ball, pulling the covers up so far that only a few wisps of brown hair were visible. After making certain that his niece was asleep, Michael went into the kitchen where he stood silent and motionless for almost an hour. He lit no candles, relying only on shafts of moonlight that filtered in through the boarded up windows for light. His patience paid off when he heard the skittering of tiny claws on the wooden floor. The cookie crumbs he'd left out had been too good for the hungry rat to pass up. A small black shape scurried into a pool of moonlight and Michael lunged, snatching the wriggling creature up by its tail. It's paws beat the air as it squeaked and tried to bite, its long whiskers twitching. In one swift motion, Michael had drawn a knife across its furry throat, then carved a vertical gash down its stomach, exposing the rat's red, wet innards. Still holding onto the dying rat's tail, he carried it outside and threw the carcass into the weeds, where some scavenger would eat it later. After what it had done to Jamie, Michael felt no desire to eat it himself. Besides, he wasn't hungry.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for mild swearing and blood

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie {AU}

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Nope, not a thing. Not One Bit**.**

**Authors Note**: For those of you worrying that Michael is getting too soft, fear not. He'll get to do a little killing very soon. But not yet. This'll probably be my last update until after I finish stuffing my face at Thanksgiving. Hope I did allright. I wasn't so sure about this chapter.

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

_All things truly wicked start from an innocence._

**-Ernest Hemingway, "A Moveable Feast"**

* * *

The sky overhead was slate gray, each cloud blending almost seamlessly into the other. A soft, chilly breeze blew from the northeast. It tore the remaining leaves off the trees and swirled them around, creating small whirlpools of red, gold, and brown that eventually settled into large multicolored piles scattered throughout the forest. Pale, cloudy mist drifted over the ground like the fingers of ghosts, forming damp patches of cold that settled among the roots of trees and floated in wispy strands around the lower branches. A few birds sang, but most had already abandoned their nests to seek warmer climes. There was not much warmth left in the woods surrounding Haddonfield.

Two figures, one tall and clad in a dark blue mechanics suit with a white mask covering its face, the other much smaller and wearing a frilly white dress, walked hand in hand along the remnants of an old hiking trail. The trail was a barely visible dirt path buried beneath fallen branches, rotting logs, and drifts of fallen leaves. Only the occasional evergreen tree or shrub stood to remind travelers of the lush greenery of the past summer.

Michael Myers walked along the trail with his niece, all the while trying to figure out exactly how she'd talked him into bringing her out here.

"I'm bored," she'd said, having just devoured the slice of pepperoni pizza he'd brought her. He couldn't believe how much trouble he'd gone through to get that insignificant piece of food. It had been ever so gratifying to see the look of happy surprise on his niece's face when he'd given it to her. Maybe that was why he hadn't reacted violently to her next question.

"Can we go outside for a while?"

He hadn't moved, even though every instinct in his body told him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. Outside was spacious, with plenty of directions for her to run. If she got away...If he lost her...

"I promise I won't run away. You can hold my hand, if you want to."

Hmm...that would make it easy to grab her if she tried anything. And she did have a point, there wasn't much to do in this old pioneer cabin.

"Please?" she begged, looking at him with big, hopeful brown eyes

Now here he was, holding Jamie's hand while leading her through the woods and trying to understand why he'd given in so easily. Jamie walked beside him, trying to look in every direction at once, eager to take everything in. True to her word, Jamie hadn't made any attempts to get away and seemed to be happy enough. Michael actually caught her smiling once or twice, the slight curving of her lips adding an extra shine to her face. Having to hold his hand didn't even seem to bother her. It had been so unexpected to Michael when her soft, little hand had willingly folded into his large, calloused one that he almost hadn't been able to contain the emotions that wanted to express themselves, those soft feelings that he kept hidden behind the darkness in his eyes.. He couldn't bear to let them out. Even now, they were sealed behind a wall, a high wall with fortified towers and a locked iron gate.

They walked in silence, hearing nothing except leaves and twigs crunching under their feet. The shoes Michael had gotten Jamie were almost two sizes too big for her, which meant he had to watch to make sure she didn't trip while occasionally having to lift her up over holes, logs, and other obstacles in their path.. Michael guessed they had covered at least a third of a mile when Jamie's foot was snagged by a fallen branch and she stumbled, going down almost to her knees. He caught her easily, never having released his grip on her hand, and helped her back onto her feet. With some amusement he noticed her face turn bright red, as if she were embarrassed or angry, most likely it was the former. Spotting the remains of a fallen oak tree that partially blocked the trail ahead of them, Michael headed over to it and sat down, pulling Jamie down beside him.

A strong gust of wind came, carrying with it dozens of crisp autumn leaves. They swirled around the sitting pair like orange and gold confetti, settling on their hair and clothes. Irritated by the never ending drifts of dead foliage, Michael flicked pieces of the brittle things off him with one hand while his other hand remained closed over Jamie's soft palm. Glancing down at the girl, he noticed a bit of lemon yellow leaf caught in her hair and was about to pluck it out when she asked, "What happened to your hand?'

Michael knew she was referring to the old burn marks and scars that crisscrossed the back of the hand that was currently holding hers. They were clearly visible as white and brown discolorations on the skin. Jamie was studying them intently, her head cocked to the side in what Michael realized to be an unconscious imitation of his own movements.

Several sarcastic replies flashed through his mind. _Oh, I got those when your mother and my crazy psychiatrist nearly blew me up by igniting a bunch of oxygen tanks. _But of course he said nothing.

"Did it hurt?"Jamie asked, actually sounding like she cared.

Michael shook his head. It had stopped hurting a long time ago, when he'd forced himself to stop feeling.

"I twisted my ankle once when I fell down the steps outside my house. It hurt for days. My mom took care of me. She gave me Tylenol and stuff,." said Jamie. She chewed on her bottom lip when she finished speaking, the corners of her mouth falling into a small, serious frown. Michael knew this was a sign that she was thinking deeply about something. It had the effect of making her look a little more grown up. She glanced up at him, then back down at his scarred hand, that troubled frown never leaving her face. Hesitantly, she met his eyes once more and asked in a quiet voice, "Did anyone take care of you when you got hurt?"

It was funny. Michael had faced down crazed men with guns, could recall several occasions where he'd been stabbed with a variety of sharp objects, and had once almost gotten blown to bits by a fanatical shrink in a hospital, yet none of those situations had scared him as much as his niece and her questions. He couldn't answer, and wouldn't have even if he could. The only person that had ever tried to take care of him had been dead for over fifteen years. So he turned away, needing to focus on something besides the little girl sitting next to him.

His dark eyes settled on a small gray spider that was dangling from a line of silk just a few inches in front of his face. It had fallen from one of the branches above them, barely managing to stop itself from landing in his lap. One of its jointed legs was stretched out, feeling for something to grab onto. Reaching up, Michael grabbed the spider by the leg and gave it a violent shake, tearing the fragile thread of webbing, destroying the arachnids chance to climb to safety. Holding the creature in the palm of one hand, his fingers were closing in with the intent to crush its tiny life out when Jamie spoke up. He hadn't realized she'd been watching him.

"Please don't kill it!" Her eyes were bright, pleading.

Michael tilted his head, sending a clear message of _Why not?_

"I like spiders," she said. "They remind me of Charlotte."

_What?_ Even with a mask covering his face, Michael managed to look puzzled.

"The spider in Charlotte's Web. My mom read it to me when I was five."

The confusion wasn't going away, and Jamie sensed it.

"You've never heard of it, have you?"

He sure hadn't.

So she told him about the children's classic in which the spring pig Wilbur and little bloodsucking Charlotte and how they became friends. She explained how the villagers were planning to kill Wilbur and eat him at the end of the year and how Charlotte, with the help of the other animals, saves him by writing words in her web. He found the whole story to be a confusing mess. Why would a spider become friends with a pig, even if such a thing were possible? He was a little amused when she mentioned the name of a rat that had helped Charlotte and licked his lips under his mask.

"In the end Charlotte dies all alone after everyone else goes back to the barn,' said Jamie. She looked away, focusing for a moment on her hand that was still firmly held in his.."I always cry at that part."

A killer knew about death better than anyone, was intimately acquainted with the ways to cause it, and was sometimes aware of the grief and crying that generally followed. But Michael, who was responsible for many deaths, couldn't comprehend why someone would cry over the loss of a stupid spider. Things like that died all the time, and nobody cared. Remembering that the spider was still trapped in his hand, he decided to wait until his niece was distracted, and then kill it.

"I wanted to dress up as Charlotte for Halloween one year, but my mommy wouldn't let me,"she said, her voice becoming tight, almost angry. Jamie's eyelids drooped slightly, making her look mournful and sad as she remembered all the fun that had been denied to her. "This year, I wanted to be a princess and she still wouldn't let me. She doesn't like Halloween. but she never tells me why."

Michael knew why, but he sure as hell wasn't about to tell his little niece that it was because Halloween was the anniversary of when he'd tried to kill her mother. Twice. Not to mention he'd succeeded in killing an aunt that she would never know. A little sympathy for Jamie caused him to gently squeeze the hand that he still held. As a kid, he'd loved Halloween but his damned older sister had always ruined it for him. Until the night he'd ruined it for her.

_Judith had it coming. _

He'd never let go of that conviction, even when Dr. Loomis had been trying to teach him about right and wrong during his time at Smith's Grove. Judith had been a lying, manipulative, slutty excuse for a sister and if he hadn't killed her himself, she most likely would've been murdered by some boyfriend she'd cheated on or some drug dealer she'd ripped off. His little sister had been different. She'd been too tiny and innocent to fight for herself, so Michael had fought for her. He'd protected her from Judith and from any nasty boyfriends Mom had decided to bring home. Then he'd been taken away for fifteen years, and his little sis hadn't even tried to find him. He'd had to find her himself, when she was all grown up and didn't even know him. That was when the old rage had filled him up once more and he'd attacked her, even though deep down he'd known it wasn't her fault.

"I think my mommy's scared of you."

Michael's attention snapped back to his niece, who was gazing at him with a thoughtful frown. _I know she's scared of me_, he thought, feeling a touch of grim amusement.

"But I don't think you're that bad, really."

Michael nearly stopped breathing and was almost certain his heart was about to either jump out of his chest or explode inside it. Was she serious? He'd chased her down, kidnapped her, and was holding her prisoner and she was saying he wasn't that bad? He leaned in closer in order to get a better view of her face, expecting to see a sly smirk or a sarcastic glint in her eyes, but all he found was her honest, open face. _So innocent_. he thought, a little sadly. If only she knew what kind of a monster he really was.

If only she knew.

Overhead, a few wan flickers of sunlight were attempting to break through the thick layers of clouds. The long evening of autumn was coming on as the sun sank lower, sharpening the chill that was in the air and casting deep shadows across the forest floor. The white mist was thickening, curling like smoke around the dark outlines of trees, Neither Michael or Jamie moved or spoke for a long time. Michael had completely forgotten about the spider, which had managed to leap free of his hand and disappear.

The masked killer stood suddenly and, in a fluid, graceful movement, scooped little Jamie up in his arms and began the long walk back to the cabin. It was nearly dark and they would travel faster if he carried her. He told himself that was the only reason he showed her this kindness. But soon he felt Jamie snuggle against him, heard her contented sigh as she lay her head on his shoulder, and something began to give way inside him. His resistance to those soft emotions was crumbling, the iron wall around his heart was, ever so slowly, starting to melt and the towers beginning to shake and fall.

_I've got someone new to take care of._

That thought stuck in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

His niece was almost asleep in his arms by the time they got back to the cabin. Instead of taking her straight to her bedroom, Michael sat down in one of the soft chairs in the living room. He arranged Jamie on his lap so that her head lay on his shoulder For a brief moment her eyes opened, then slipped shut again as she sighed and relaxed against him. Moving with the sluggishness of a sleepy child, she brought her arms up so that they wrapped lightly around his neck. This time, Michael didn't even flinch at the contact. He held Jamie close in the dark room, feeling her chest rise and fall as she breathed, not needing to see her face to know that sleep made her look even more innocent and beautiful. A tear fell from his right eye, sliding down under his mask, and left a wet trail down his scarred cheek. Michael had lost whatever innocence he'd owned long ago and no psychiatrist, no drug, no therapy in the world could help him get it back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for mild swearing and blood

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

**Disclaimer:** I own my brain. Don't know what I'd do without it.

**Author's Note:** Watch out here, people. That's all I'm sayin.'

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

_You can't imagine the price for true evil._

**-Angel, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"**

* * *

Jamie's eyelids twitched as her consciousness was pulled up through layers of sleep that covered her like blankets. She could vaguely feel the actual blankets that were piled on top of her, but she was only halfway out of a deep, peaceful sleep and so couldn't summon the energy to push them off. It was safe and warm here. She didn't want to leave, but something was making her wake up. A hand was softly stroking her hair, playing with the long strands that fell across her pillow.

_Mommy, is that you?_

Some faint, whispering voice tried to warn her that it wasn't her mother, but Jamie was still too sleepy to pay much attention. She moved closer to whoever was beside her, seeking the comfort of human contact, and was a little surprised when her hands touched coarse fabric covering a broad, muscular chest. A man's chest.

_Daddy?_

In her mind, a pool of colors swirled and mixed until they solidified into the smiling face of her father, who she hadn't seen for four years. She'd never forgotten how he had looked on the last night she'd seen him, right before she and her mother had moved away from their old home. She'd watched her parents argue from the end of the hallway that led off to the bedrooms, despite her mother ordering her to go to her room and stay there. His young, boyish face had been strained and anguished as he had stood by the large front door, with one hand grasping the doorknob, while shouting at her mother. Their exchanged words had been almost unintelligible to little Jamie, but she'd known from their raised voices that they were both angry. Then her father had roughly thrown open the door and walked out, slamming it behind him. That night Jamie had cried herself to sleep, knowing that Daddy wouldn't be there the next morning. She missed his deep laugh, the way he'd carry her on his shoulders, she even missed the strong, minty smell of the aftershave he'd use in the mornings.

Now her tall, handsome father was standing just feet away and smiling at her, his slanted eyes sparkling with his old good humor. He raised one hand, beckoning for her to come to him. Jamie started running, preparing to leap into her Daddy's arms. Then something began pulling him away, as if he were a trout being reeled in on a fishing pole. She ran faster, but her father was disappearing, being drawn into a dark void.

_Daddy, please don't go!_

Very slowly, she opened her eyes, and almost panicked as her father's face dissolved and was replaced by the haunting, ghost white mask of the Boogeyman, Just inches away from her, he was sprawled on top of the blue coverlet, with one strong arm draped over her shoulders, holding her close as if she were one of the variety of stuffed animals strewn haphazardly all over the bed. The black holes that were his eyes were locked onto hers, and Jamie found it impossible to move or even think about moving as she lost herself in those twin pools of darkness, half-expecting to see her father trapped there.

Flashes and feelings of what had happened the night before scrolled across her mind like scenes from a poorly edited movie. She remembered the walk they'd taken through the forest and how, when it had begun to get dark, she'd been picked up and carried, held tightly in the Boogeyman's arms, and she guessed she'd fallen asleep like that despite doing her best to stay awake. There was something else, a faint recollection of being rocked like a baby while cuddled against someone, but the everything after that was a total blank.

Jamie stayed perfectly still as his scarred, bumpy hand continued to stroke her hair. He seemed to like doing that. Once he had spent an entire hour brushing her hair and had even made a disastrous attempt to braid it. Thinking of that incident almost made her smile, he'd turned her into a miniature Medusa and it had taken them another four hours to unravel all the gnarled ropes of twisted hair. She wasn't as scared of him as she knew she should be, not after the time they'd spent together. He acted as if he really did care about her, though she didn't understand why he would, and seemed totally intent on making her happy, but it was hard not to feel a little afraid when confronted with his emotionless mask of a face. Though it was possible to catch a glimpse of the human eyes inside the black eyeholes every now and then, if she looked close enough. She wondered what his real face looked like but knew better than to ask him to show her, even though she was bursting with curiosity to see if he was a normal man underneath.

Her desire to see a familiar face made her sigh softly. _Mom, I miss you._

He must've sensed a little of the tenseness Jamie felt, because he stopped stroking her hair, though he didn't take his hand away. He kept his hand where it was, loosely snagged in the thick hair that lay on her shoulder. A candle still burned on the bedside table, throwing a soft flickering glow over the wooden walls and over the two people on the bed. When it shone into the eyeholes of the white mask, it reflected off the eyes within, creating tiny pinpricks of yellow light that danced and wavered with the intensity of his mood, making his emotions more readable. So when Jamie looked into those dark orbs, she was a little shocked to see a hint of sadness reflected in them.

"Umm...hi," she said, a little weakly.

The hand that had been in her hair pulled away, only to settle lightly upon her cheek. He began to tenderly stroke the sides of her face, softly tracing patterns up and down her cheekbones, along her jawline, the bridge of her nose, and even around her eyelids. Jamie felt some of the tension drain away from her. What he was doing was soothing, and nice, and it made her almost want to go back to sleep. A moment later she closed her eyes, and so failed to spot the mischievous glint that appeared within the dark eyeholes until it was too late.

Jamie felt the light touches on her face stop, and a second later a thick finger poked her in the sensitive area under her right armpit. Her eyes flew open as the finger brushed the thin fabric of her nightgown with a featherlight touch, causing her nerves to fire with that harmless yet dreaded tingle. He was _tickling_ her!

She gritted her teeth, but couldn't prevent a few giggles from escaping, and gave up altogether when his other hand squeezed its way into her left armpit. Rolling onto her back didn't manage to dislodge his wriggling fingers and only succeeded in giving her torturer the opportunity to pin her down. She was nearly crying with laughter when he started attacking her ribs, his calloused fingers pinching and teasing, giving her what was probably the single most unbearable tickling sessions she'd ever had in her life. Not even her father had ever made her laugh this hard, and she thought he'd been an expert in the subtle arts of tickling torture. She flung her arms out, trying to push him away, but it was as futile as pushing away a grizzly bear in the act of mauling its victim.

After a few more minutes of laughter inducing torment he mercifully stopped, and looked down on her with an expression she couldn't read. His hands were sunk into the pillow on either side of her head, so she couldn't turn away, and for once this didn't really bother her. Still breathless from the near hysterics he'd put her in, but also feeling relaxed and a little happier, Jamie snuggled deeper into the soft bed and smiled up at the masked man leaning over her. For the first time, she felt completely safe with him..

He leaned in closer, so close that Jamie thought he was about to kiss her cheek, and then her stomach chose that moment to make a loud, gurgling growl. Jamie's face flushed with embarrassment as she remembered that she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. "Guess I'm hungry," she said, her pale pink lips curving into a small smile. Her eyes were half-closed from drowsiness but she continued to watch as the Boogeyman tilted his head in that doglike way of his. _He's so funny when he does that_, she thought, and giggled softly.

With an odd kind of gracefulness, the Boogeyman moved away from her and got up from the bed, standing tall and straight in the candlelight. He spent another moment silently watching her, then turned like a soldier marching into battle and walked out of the room. Jamie heard the loud thump of the heavy door swinging shut as he left the cabin, presumably off to find her some food.

Jamie pulled the blankets up around her chin and closed her eyes. Before sleep took her once more, she thought she heard a soft rumble of thunder, distant yet powerful.

"Hello?"

The unfamiliar voice jolted Jamie out of a peaceful sleep. She had grown so used to silence that the sound seemed vulgar, too loud for the small, quiet cabin. Her heart pounding, she threw off the covers and walked to the door of her bedroom.

"Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers?"

A figure stepped out of the shadows, and Jamie saw that it was just a small old man. He was dressed like a gardener, wearing brown suspenders over a tan shirt, and stood with a slight hunch, as though his back pained him. He was nearly bald, with a circle of wispy white hair along the sides of his head that joined in the back, falling down to the nape of his neck. His face was round and wrinkled, giving the impression of grandfatherly age and experience. A pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, magnifying the crinkles around his pale blue eyes. Those eyes widened when they spotted Jamie.

"Huh?" He came closer, adjusting his glasses. "Who are you? Are you with the Carruthers?"

Jamie began to fidget nervously. Biting her lower lip, she said, "I'm Jamie Strode. I live here with-" She wasn't sure how to finish that sentence, not wanting to admit that she lived with the Boogeyman, so she settled on, "-my friend."

A clap of thunder, this one quite loud, shook the cabin. Both of them jumped, momentarily startled by the loud sound. The old man recovered first, fixing Jamie with a hard stare."You shouldn't be here, missy." His voice took on the stern tone of someone who really knew how to lecture. "This house belongs to the Carruthers family. How did you get in?"

"How did you?" Jamie asked, feeling defensive.

"I take care of the grounds here. I have the master keys." He held up a large brass keyring loaded with jingling gold and silver keys clustered together like a bunch of metallic grapes. "Now tell me how-"

A blue flash of lightning lit up the hallway like a strobelight, briefly outlining both their faces in a pale, eerie glow. The old man stopped and peered closer at Jamie, noticing details he'd missed before. His jaw dropped open, making an audible clicking noise.

"You're the kid that's been all over the news, the girl that that Myers guy took!" He held his arms out to her, as if he meant to scoop her up and carry her away."You have to get away from him!"

Jamie took a step forward, then hesitated, uncertain."He won't hurt me," she said, sounding more confident than she felt.

"He kills people, honey!" The groundskeeper's hand flew to his temple and he stumbled as a horrible realization struck him, "My god, he probably killed the Carruthers!" His voice quavered and his frail, trembling body looked as though it were about to shake itself to pieces from fear.

"But-"

Jamie's breath caught in her throat. A dark, indistinct shape appeared behind the old man, towering over him. More thunder rumbled.

"I'm going to get you out of here." He said as he stretched a bony hand out towards her, "You're going to be allri-"

A soft hiss floated through the air, catlike and menacing. Before the startled old man could turn around, a pair of scarred hands shot out from behind him. Lightning flared amid booming peals of thunder as the hands clamped down hard on either side of his head and began to squeeze. The spectacles slipped off his nose and shattered on the floor as the poor man started gasping for air, making pathetic little whimpering noises, and Jamie could hear tiny popping and grinding sounds as his skull started caving in. She wanted to close her eyes, but was paralyzed with fright and so continued watching the grisly murder happening right in front of her. The look of pure pain and terror on the old man's face made her want to cry. It twisted the kindly, grandfatherly old face into a grimacing death's head mask. Blood began trickling from his eyes and nose, then there was a sickeningly loud crunch as the Boogeyman's fingers actually broke through the sides of his head, burying themselves up to the first knuckle inside his skull. The Boogeyman released him then, and the old man fell to the floor, clearly and irreversibly dead.

Rigid with shock, Jamie could only stare up at the Boogeyman as he loomed over the person he'd just killed. There was no emotion in his eyes, no trace of the life she'd seen in them before. Lightning still flickered in the hallway, streaking in through cracks in the boarded up windows, and lit up the Boogeyman's pale face in quick strobes of stark, white light. He looked down at the terrified girl, who desperately wanted to sink into the floor and disappear, to hide under the covers of her bed, to be anywhere but underneath that cold, empty stare. Without saying a word, the Boogeyman reached down with a hand coated in a slick veneer of blood and brains, grabbed the dead man by one thin leg, and began dragging him away. Jamie watched, unable to move, as the groundskeeper's long, thin arms trailed limply upon the floor, watched the old man's broken head bounce each time it struck a crack in the wooden planking. She watched until the arms of the dead man slid around a corner, and then heard the sound of a heavy door being slammed shut.

For several minutes Jamie stood frozen in place, a little girl in a white nightie with unfocused eyes that stared vacantly down the empty hallway. Then he knees gave out and she collapsed, sobbing, down to the cold floor. Her stomach lurched, but there was nothing in it to bring up, so she succumbed to a round of painful dry heaving. She covered her tearstained face with her hands as the clear, unbearable truth came to her.

_He really is a monster._

_He'll never let me go. _

The old man had been right. She had to get away from him.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to think of escape plans, but she had no idea how to get out of a house with a locked door and boards covering all the windows.

Then, glimmering through her tears, she saw a shiny brass ring laying a few inches in front of her knees. They lay exactly where the old man had dropped them.

_The keys!_

Without stopping to think, Jamie scooped them up and ran to the only door that led to the outside world, not bothering to look at the gifts that had been left for her on the kitchen table. Her hands shook as she experimented with fitting each key into each lock and twisting, trying to find the correct combination. She worked fast, afraid that the Boogeyman would come back any minute. If he caught her trying to escape, Jamie didn't want to think of what he might do to her.

Finally, all the locks clicked and the door swung open, sending a waft of fresh air into the cabin that made all the burning candles sputter and bend. Taking a deep breath, Jamie ran as fast as she could out into the darkening forest.

* * *

Tension was thick in the forest air as The Shape dragged the body of his latest victim through thorny, tangled underbrush, over thick, gnarled tree roots, and through deep puddles of fresh mud that splashed up and coated the corpse like paint. A shovel was slung over one arm, while the other hand gripped one of the dead man's ankles with such brutal force that some of the bones were crushed. Ozone saturated the air as a line of dark clouds piled on top of each other, and no insects flew or birds sang. A serious storm was coming.

A storm was already raging in the mind of Michael Myers. Pure fury welled up in him, an electric maelstrom of hate directed at the lump of dead flesh that he was having to tow through this godforsaken forest to a concealed burial site, under skies that threatened to open up any minute, when all he had wanted to do that day was be with Jamie. Now, because of this old fool, that agenda would be on the near side of impossible.

_She's afraid of me._

He'd seen it in her eyes, he was well aware of what fear looked like, and his little niece had been filled with it. All the ground he'd gained with her, everything he'd done to make her happy and comfortable, none of that mattered now that she'd seen him kill. If this had happened sooner he might not have cared what she though, but now...

Somehow, she made him happy. Whenever she laughed or smiled at him, when he watched her sleep or held her in his arms, he felt calmer. At peace. The rage would fade away for a time, and be replaced by something else.

Pain swelled up inside him as an image of her terrified face flashed inside his mind , forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. It was followed by a mental onslaught of bitterness and recriminations. Why had he done it in front of her? He could've dragged the trespasser outside, it would've been easy to take such an old man, and then hidden the body where Jamie would never have seen it. She would've wondered what had happened, of course, but he might've been able to deal with that. She was too innocent for her own good.

_Not anymore._

This morning when he'd watched her sleep, she'd cried out for her father. Michael didn't know who her father was and didn't care, but he'd given in to a strong impulse to comfort her. And he'd done it. After their little bout of play, Michael could tell that she was finally beginning to trust him and now...._dammit!_

Flaming red rage blasted through his mind, destroying all rational thought and self-control. He dropped the leg of the dead man, which made a soft splat as it hit the wet ground, and took a two-handed grip on the shovel. He brought the heavy tool down on the dead man's chest with enough force that he heard ribs crack. The second hit turned the wrinkled old face into a bloody, unrecognizable mess, with splinters of shattered bone peeking through torn skin. The third and fourth blows, inflicted with the side of the shovel, almost managed to completely sever the man's arms. Blow after blow fell upon the unresponsive corpse, sending small sprays of blood into the air, until the groundskeeper resembled a vaguely human shaped piece of hamburger. Blood seeped into the ground around the mutilated remains. The old man's bloody head rolled a short distance away, with it's mouth fallen open and tongue lolling.

Michael breathed heavily as he fought for control. Venting his rage made him feel better, but it wouldn't help when he confronted Jamie again. He would have to convince her that he wouldn't hurt her. Ever. Maybe the presents he'd gotten her would help.

Michael began to dig, deciding this secluded forest glade was as good a place to hide what was left of the old man as any. He dug at a furious pace, sending clods of the damp earth into the air, which eventually settled, forming into a small mound off to the side. Soon he had a decent sized hole and, without ceremony, began tossing the human remains into it, feeling grateful that he would never have to look at the one who'd ruined his relationship with Jamie ever again.

After he'd filled in the grave, he headed back to the cabin, trying to decide how he would handle Jamie. She'd be afraid, so he'd comfort her, and then give her the presents. Everything would be okay.

He stopped short when he came within sight of the cabin. The front door was standing ajar.

He stormed through every room, checking under Jamie's bed and in the bathroom, even checking the crawlspace in the ceiling, but found nothing. Despair settled over his heart, numbing it, freezing it like a sheet of emotional ice.

Jamie was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for some swearing and blood.

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

**Disclaimer:** Don't own a thing.

**Author's Note**: I'm afraid it's gonna be nothin' but cliffhangers from here on out, guys. I apologize in advance. And I finally remembered to enable anonymous reviews so by all means tell me if this chapter was worth the effort I put into it. It took a lot out of me to write and the next one's probably going to be even harder! Just in case this is my last update until after Xmas, so I wish you all Happy Holidays in whatever way you choose to celebrate them! Myself, I'm going to drink lots of eggnog (preferably with that extra kick to it) and munch all the candycanes I can get.

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

"_Well," he thought, "I've got a new friend, all right. But, what a gamble friendship is! Charlotte is fierce, brutal, scheming, bloodthirsty – everything I don't like. How can I learn to like her?"_

**E. B. White, "Charlotte's Web"**

* * *

Trees, some with broad trunks pitted and cracked from age, others young, slender saplings that had barely begun to grow, loomed over the little girl as she ran and darted among them. Above them all, the gray sky gradually deepened from sickly green, to the livid purple of a fresh bruise, and finally to a false night lit by erratic flashes of blue and white lightning. Strong gusts of cool wind caused high branches to bend and creak, and rustled through the dry needles of white pines. The entire forest seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the power contained within those massive, angry thunderheads to be unleashed.

Fueled by the liquid fire of adrenaline, Jamie ran without stopping for what felt like hours, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst inside her. The chilly autumn air blew against her face and ruffled her nightgown, making the long white sleeves billow out like wings. It flowed effortlessly through the thin cotton fabric and contacted the sweat covering her body, making her pale skin feel cold and clammy. A shudder passed through her limbs as goosebumps started popping up, becoming tiny frozen pearls on her arms and legs. She wanted to stop, to lay down on the cold, prickly forest floor and rest for just a few minutes, just long enough to catch her breath, but every time she tried her imagination kicked in, filling her mind with images of what the Boogeyman might do to her if he caught her and how much it would hurt.

So she kept running, batting aside low hanging tree branches and tangled ferns, ignoring the broken sticks and sharp thorns that stabbed into the soles of her bare feet. Every time she stumbled, she immediately got up again. Every time a sharp twig or stone cut into her tender feet, she ignored the urge to cry out. The near constant flashes of lightning disoriented her, providing frightening seconds of brilliant illumination that outlined the entire forest in black and white, making swaying branches appear as grasping claws and thick tree roots seem like piles of giant, writhing worms, then plunging everything back into almost total darkness. Her breath came in ragged pants as she forced herself to keep running, run fast enough to leave the horrible memory of the poor old man's crushed, bleeding head behind her.

_The Boogeyman kills people._

The reality that the strange, silent monster-man she'd somehow befriended, who she'd been starting to like and maybe even love a little, was still a ruthless murderer made tears trickle from the corners of her tired eyes, despite her frustrated attempts at holding them back. The unshed tears blurred her already limited sight, making the lightning-lit forest glisten as if everything were floating underwater.

As if from sympathy, fat drops of cold rain started to fall, plunking into the muddy ground, hitting tree branches, clinging for a moment, then sliding off the rough bark and the tips of the few remaining leaves. The wind began to pick up, buffeting her as she ran, making it harder to keep her balance. It mercilessly tore the last of the autumn leaves from their stems, sending them spiraling into the air like kites with their strings cut.

Suddenly, in the middle of putting one foot in front of the other, her right heel got snagged by a broken tree branch that lay half buried in the ground and she was falling, about to land face first in a shallow puddle. She instinctively threw her arms out to catch herself, and couldn't keep from shouting in pain as a sharp stick jabbed into the palm of her right hand. She got to her knees, squinting as she tried to inspect her stinging hand in the flickering blue light. There was definitely a fresh scrape in the middle of her palm that was already welling up with blood. It hurt, providing a steady, stinging burn that caused her frantic mind to stop, focus, and assess her situation.

Blind panic was what had sent her racing out into the middle of nowhere without a plan, during a dangerous thunderstorm, and now she had no idea where to go or what to do. She was lost, in every sense of the word.

_Maybe I should've stayed. Maybe it would've been okay._

_But what he'd done had been so horrible..._

Jamie stared down into the muddy puddle in front of her knees, barely noticing the haggard and filthy state she was in, so overwhelmed by confusion, desperation, and unbearable, crushing exhaustion that she was almost unable to move. She brought her bleeding right hand to her cheek and halfheartedly wiped away a streak of dirt, not noticing the small smear of blood she left behind, trailing down the side of her face like a fresh scar. Her heart still hammered in her chest, but she was so tired. She wanted, _needed_, to rest, to catch her breath, to allow the aching muscles in her legs a second to stop moving. She had to have run far enough away that the Boogeyman would never be able to find her! He'd have to search through the whole forest.

_I wish Mommy would find me._

Her eyes unfocused as she slipped into a light trance. Rain continued to fall, splattering into the murky puddle before her and creating small ripples that flowed and crossed each other in hypnotic patterns. Quick bursts of blue lightning set the small puddle alight, allowing the water to paint a wavering reflection of Jamie's frightened, drawn face, framed by the overhanging branches of a birch tree, thin lines of mottled white and brown wood that interlaced over her head, roughly being tossed about by the rising wind. More raindrops splashed into the water, upsetting the surface, making new ripples. Jamie watched, fascinated, as several ripples connected and spread into shivering circles over her distorted reflection, sharpening it, and shifting the features of her small, chubby face until the reflection in the water became the hard, strong image of her mother.

_Mom, help me! _

Jamie was about to reach out and touch the near perfect face of her mother hoping to find reassurance from this vision, hallucination, whatever it was, when an intense streak of forked lightning blanketed everything in electric white, briefly revealing the entire forest. In the instant between the lightning flash and the returning darkness, the image in the water changed, the tanned skin took on the same vivid brightness as the lightning, the strong cheekbones became hollow and sunken, and the eyes darkened, so that they were no longer her mother's blue eyes but the shadow eyes of the Boogeyman, staring intently over Jamie's shoulders.

_._She screamed and bolted forward, getting up off her knees so fast she became slightly dizzy, launching herself back into the darkness. The wind began to shriek as it gained even more speed, pelting her with sheets of stinging rain that almost blinded her, making the already low level of visibility even worse. It was only seconds before she was soaked through. Her nightgown clung to her skin and long strands of her soft brown hair became plastered to her forehead and scalp, the rest flowed down her shoulders and back in one sopping wet tail. Her body felt heavy and slow as she ran, and she stumbled more often. The driving wind, pouring rain, and endless running were wearing her down. Finally, her knees gave out and she fell forward, landing painfully on her stomach in a pile of wet leaves and fallen branches, which snapped as she clumsily flipped over onto her back.

The strength of the wind began to die down, dropping from a shrieking crescendo to soft whimpers, then fading away completely. The air became almost tranquil, while scattered drops of rain continued to fall like bullets into the softened ground. Distant rumbles of thunder and bursts of lightning interrupted the silence, but the worst of the storm appeared to be moving on. Still laying flat on her back, Jamie wiped her eyes with the back of one hand, clearing her vision of water. Shakily, she propped herself up on her elbows.

And saw him walking toward her.

"No! No!" Jamie shrieked as she tried to drag herself away from the approaching monster. She could barely make out his shape, which blended quite well into the surrounding darkness, and only knew he was coming by the crunching sound of his heavy, footfalls and the sight of his mask, which seemed to float like a spectral lantern toward her.

Crying hysterically, Jamie continued her desperate scramble away from him, scooting backwards on her hands and feet. Then her back pressed up against the splintery trunk of a large tree, an ancient tree, and she nearly fell into the hollow opening concealed between two thick roots. It was circular and deep, barely big enough for her to squeeze into, and it was under a very large and foreboding old oak, a bad place to be in a thunderstorm, but she couldn't run and there was nowhere else to go. On her hands and knees, she crawled down into the hollow, ignoring the crumbling black dirt that became uncomfortably stuck under her nails. She wedged herself back as far as she could, brushing aside thin strands of roots and moss that dangled around her. It was a tight fit, almost making Jamie give in to claustrophobia as she sensed the enormous weight of the tree pressing down above her, She stayed still, trying to slow her breathing, hearing nothing but blood rushing through her ears from her pounding heart, keeping her eyes fixed on the crescent shaped opening only feet away from her. She could see nothing outside but bluish, hazy light and flashes of lightning. Her lips moved soundlessly as she prayed.

_Please God, don't let him get me!_

Crunch.

A scarred hand shot through the crevasse, its crooked fingers scrabbling against the dirt, seeking purchase. Jamie screamed, pulling her legs tight against her body as the hand came within inches of seizing her ankles. The Boogeyman shoved his arm in up to the elbow, but Jamie remained just out of reach.

"Please don't hurt me! Leave me alone!" She begged, sobbing.

To Jamie's surprise, the Boogeyman listened. He stopped trying to grab her, and slowly withdrew his arm.

_What?_

* * *

_Please don't hurt me! Leave me alone!_

Jamie had been hiding her face in her hands when she'd cried out, and so didn't see that her rejection had hurt the Boogeyman worse than any sadistic torture she feared he was going to inflict upon her. The pain was only evident in his eyes, which were wide and slightly moist, just barely visible through the black holes of his mask. He had tracked Jamie down to calm and soothe her, to assure her that she didn't need to be afraid of him, but now, she wouldn't even let him touch her. He stopped trying to reach her and simply crouched down outside her hiding place, watching her, feeling bitter and hurt and betrayed.

The rain had almost stopped, turning into a fine mist that might've cooled the temper of any other person. It had no effect whatsoever on Michael Myers.

Frustrated anger filled the entirety of his being like a rising tide of black, polluted seawater that battered against the cracks in his tenuous control, wanting to find release and spill over into vicious action. Hadn't he taken care of her, fed her and clothed her, kept her alive when it would've been easier to just kill her? And now she was turning on him, just like Laurie! He felt like killing something, murdering someone in the most painful way his sick mind could imagine.

He felt like crucifying Jamie against the damned tree.

Red mist descended over his vision and the world shifted as though it were being held at a distance, as though he had become an eye that floated serenely above the forest, watching the events below with calm detachment. He saw himself tearing through the wooden bark, ripping out huge chunks of the rotting tree until he got to Jamie, ruthlessly dragging the screaming girl out by that lovely brown hair he had so fastidiously cared for. He saw himself slamming her up against the rough trunk of the oak, one hand squeezing her fragile neck hard enough to silence her screams as he stabbed her, plunging the knife up to the hilt in her chest over and over. He saw himself raising the blade to run it across her tender throat, staring coldly as her carotid artery spurted streams of hot blood, bright jets of crimson liquid that ebbed and flowed in sync with her dying heartbeat. He saw her innocent blood staining her white nightgown and his dark jumpsuit. He saw himself burying her lifeless body on a hilltop.

It was all over. Now that his ungrateful niece was gone he could...?

What could he do now?

He could go back to his cabin, to hate and hurt and be alone. But he realized now that wasn't what he really wanted. He still wanted Jamie. Somewhere along the way, having to give up whatever powerful and addictive emotion Jamie's presence had awoken within his bestial black heart had ceased to be an option.

_But she was afraid of me!_

_Maybe if she'd known...that we're family..._

**Family?!?**

The detached eye dove back into his body, the cozy feeling of serenity dropped off him like fake velvet, and in an instant he was seized by sheer, visceral panic.

_IS SHE DEAD? WHAT DID I JUST DO?_

Heart pounding in his chest, Michael looked around wildly but saw no blood, no body, no grave. Little Jamie was still in the tree, terrified and crying, but alive. None of it had been real, just a startlingly clear vision that had been brought on by his rage, but he hadn't acted upon that rage. For what had to be the millionth time, he'd been able to stop himself from killing her.

But he needed to hurt something so that the rage would have an outlet, and since something inside him refused to hurt Jamie, there was only one alternative. Without hesitating he flipped his knife over and dragged the serrated edge across the veiny center of his right palm, creating a deep, bloody, pleasantly painful wound. He switched the knife to his bleeding hand, and prepared to make a similar cut on his left palm.

"Stop it!"

He had become so focused on releasing his rage that he'd forgotten that Jamie was still watching him, and had seen him cut himself. His head snapped up to look at her, and he saw that she'd crawled halfway out of her shelter, still on her hands and knees, They're eyes locked and Michael noticed that hers looked huge and bright and shining with...concern? For him?

Upon seeing him, she froze. Jamie was within easy reach now, vulnerable, helpless, and she knew it. Her whole body shook, but she continued to speak to him. She pointed at the knife in his scarred hand.

"Please, stop hurting yourself! Put it down!"

_Why?_ he wanted to ask. _It feels good._ Weariness descended on him, a profound tiredness he hadn't felt since the last time he'd been drugged by the nurses at Smith's Grove. He didn't care about the pain of the cut or the pool of blood that was collecting in the center of his palm, but Jamie seemed to, and he needed to make her happy or she would run from him again. The muscles in his arms slackened, the fingers gripping the knife handle loosened until one by one they pulled away. Without resisting he let the knife fall from his hand, for the moment completely willing to do what she told him.

Something about his slumped shoulders, his downcast eyes, his all - encompassing aura of misery and defeat, prompted Jamie to emerge even further. She scooted towards him, one slide at a time, until they were sitting less than a foot apart.

She picked up the knife.

And tossed it away from him, into a thick clump of weeds several feet away.

"Are you okay?" she asked, a little hesitantly. She sat in front of him with her hands folded in her lap, shivering from cold and fear, but still with that concerned look in her eyes.

He gritted his teeth beneath the mask as his rage tried to break free once more, hot and potent as lava.

_No, I'm not okay! Don't you know that by now! _He wanted to shout at her, be rough with her, make her suffer for making him feel so vulnerable and weak. Her damnable kindness, combined with his current state of mental exhaustion, were peeling away the last of the crusty scabs covering his psychic wounds, baring raw, painful memories and their accompanying painful emotions that had been forcefully repressed and sealed away since he was a child. Loneliness, grief, self-hatred and several others that Michael couldn't even identify poured forth from his fractured mind like an infection that had gone untreated and was in the final stages of killing him.

_I'm ugly. Ugly. ._

Michael couldn't deal with this all at once. It was much easier to hate everything, hate himself, hate his victims

He called to mind the faces of some of his victims and tried focusing every ounce of his hate into their memories, shutting out every other disturbing, unfamiliar emotion that tried to make itself known. He remembered how he had killed two of Laurie's friends the first time he'd escaped from Smith's Grove. The first girl had died when he'd strangled her in her own car, he'd killed the second after dressing as a ghost so she would think he was her boyfriend. It had seemed like a funny joke at the time. But that wasn't enough, he hadn't really hated those girls, they'd just been ways to get Laurie's attention. He needed to think of someone he truly hated.

Someone did come to mind, but for once it wasn't Judith.

It was Ronnie. Ronnie, who had been the absolute worst of the men his mother had dated. Abusive and alcoholic, he had often hit little Michael, usually for no reason other than being a convenient way to relieve stress, after his mother had left for work and there had been no one around to stop him. He had been hateful and selfish to everyone around him, full of rage, until the night Michael had let loose his own bottled fury. Michael had made Ronnie pay for every cruel word he'd ever said, every punch he'd ever thrown. He'd made certain that the bad man would never hurt him again.

But the damage was already done.

A light touch snapped him out of his reverie. He looked down and saw the top of Jamie's childsized right hand resting on his own gigantic one. There was a dark brown streak on one knuckle that closely resembled dried blood. He flipped her hand over and ran one of his fingers along the nasty scrape there, mostly crusted over but still oozing a few small beads of red. He'd forgotten that his own hand was bleeding, and so ended up getting a few drops of his blood on her palm.

"I'm sorry I ran away," she whispered, inching closer to him. He was able to see what a mess she was, splattered with mud from head to toe and soaking wet besides. She looked sadly up at him, then her face crumpled and she jerked her head away, trying to hide her tears, "but I was really, really scared."

Something broke inside him, and he lunged forward, grabbed the girl by the shoulders, pulled her up against his chest and locked his arms around her in a powerful hug that was almost painful. She started to sob and tears streamed down his own face, though they were safely hidden beneath his mask. His masked lips brushed against the top of her head. barely grazing it, while one of his rough hands became lost in her hair as the other rubbed her back, massaging her tense muscles. In some corner of his mind that he was barely aware of, he wasn't only comforting a scared little girl. He was comforting himself, his childhood self, that traumatized, abused, frightened part of Michael Myers that had been ignored and repressed for so long he'd forgotten it had ever existed,.

Eventually, she settled down, her sobs became sniffles and she relaxed more fully against him. Michael hovered over her protectively as she hid her face in his chest.

"I want to go home," she whispered as she gripped his shirt. Her voice came out muffled as she was pressed tightly against his body.

Michael Myers knew that, he too, wanted to go home.

He scooped Jamie up, one hand beneath her knees and the other cradling her back, and carried her back to their cabin.

* * *

Jamie didn't understand what had made her leave the protection of the hollow tree and face the Boogeyman, and she was far too tired to care. She hardly noticed when they passed through the door of the cabin and he carried her to her bedroom. When he set her on the edge of the bed she immediately flopped over onto her back, barely conscious with every intention to stay that way. She heard the sound of his retreating footsteps and assumed he'd left for the night, but a moment later he came back carrying a lighted candle, with a large bundle tucked under one arm.

_More presents. Great._

Jamie groaned as one of his hands went behind her back and forced her to sit up. She blinked and rubbed her eyes as he tapped the wick of the burning candle against several extinguished ones on her bedside table, filling the room with yellow light. Then, from within the bundle under his arm he withdrew a cardboard box that turned out to be a packet of strawberry Pop-Tarts.

"I'm not hungry," Jamie protested, and would've laid back down if it weren't for the hand pressing against her back, firmly keeping her upright. He shook his head and shoved the box in her face, apparently unwilling to take no for an answer. Sighing, she tore open the box and began to halfheartedly nibble on the edge of one Pop-Tart while he left the room once more This time he came back with a wet washcloth and began dabbing at the mud caking her face and arms. She'd completely forgotten how dirty she was.

_I'm going to need a bath._

She finished half of her snack as he cleaned her, unable to stop herself from remembering the last time he'd done this for her. It had been the first night they'd been together, after he'd kidnapped her, drugged her, and almost killed her. That seemed like years ago now, and yet she still didn't understand.

_Why is he doing all this for me?_

"I can't eat anymore," she said as she dropped the leftover pastry back in its box. He took the box from her and tossed it in a corner, then finished removing the dirt from her face. He examined the trail of dried blood on her cheek closely, prompting Jamie to give an explanation of how it had gotten there. Then her injured hand was turned over, thoroughly inspected, and cleaned. She noticed he'd put a bandage on his own hand, the one that he had cut himself.

Jamie was starting to nod off when something was thrust into her lap. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to see what else he'd gotten her.

It was a pink princess Halloween costume, a little rumpled but in perfect condition He held out the costume, and Jamie thought there was a pleading look in his eyes, as if he were silently begging her to accept it.

She almost started crying again, but managed to gulp down the lump in her throat. She reached out and took the gift, thanking him with a little half smile.

He pointed at the costume, and then pointed at her. For emphasis, he tugged on her sleeve.

"You want me to put it on now?"

He nodded. It did make sense. She needed to get out of her wet clothes.

"Okay."

He left the room to give her some privacy while she changed, shrugging out of her wet nightgown and into the costume. The material was shiny, like silk, and the sleeves were large and puffy. It flared out around her legs, becoming a shimmering pink cloud every time she spun around. It was beautiful, and Jamie tried to pretend she was a real princess. A princess in a tower.

While she was waiting for the Boogeyman to come back, she remembered the box of jewelry he'd gotten her, still sitting on the bedside table. _I shouldn't touch it. It's not mine. He had to have stolen it. _But she reached over to lift up the ornate wooden lid anyway, and immediately the soft music began to play, haunting and a little sad, like a lullaby. The music sapped Jamie of the last of her strength and she curled up on her side, not even bothering to crawl under the covers. When the Boogeyman finally came back, she was already asleep.

Upon seeing his sleeping niece, Michael pulled back the covers and, without hesitating, climbed in beside her. He pulled her into his arms and when she became restless, placed his masked lips on her forehead in a soft kiss.

As he lay there holding Jamie tightly in his arms and listening to the final notes of the lullaby, Michael thought of something that had never occurred to him before, had in fact only just become obvious to him due to the emotional meltdown he'd experienced in the forest. It explained why he'd been unable to kill Jamie when he'd had so many chances, why he'd forgiven her for running away, and why he so desperately needed her to stay with him now. All this was possible because, somehow, in spite of his raging, animalistic nature, he had grown to love his little niece with a fierceness and devotion he hadn't known for a long time, not since Laurie was a child, maybe not even then. And he wanted her to love him just as much as she loved Laurie, preferably more than she loved Laurie. Realizing that, he came to a decision. Tomorrow night he would take her to his childhood home on Lampkin Lane, and there he would find a way to tell her who he was.


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for swearing and blood.

**Summary**: When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie {AU}

**Disclaimer:** Own nothing.

**Author's Note:** Ye gods, here it is! An extra long chapter! You might recognize a few minor characters and scenarios from past Halloween movies. I'll give you three guesses who the fake Michael Myers is. And I'm very sorry about the evil ending, but it couldn't be helped.

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

_Michael? It will destroy you too, one day, Michael! This rage which drives you.. You have to fight it, in the place where it's strongest! Where it all began! If you want to get rid of this rage, Michael, go home, Go home!_

**-Dr. Samuel Loomis, Halloween 5: The Revenge of Michael Myers**

* * *

Michael was disappointed. He'd thought there would be more cops here.

After carefully concealing himself among a thick clump of trees, the masked man had spent most of the afternoon observing the activity on Lampkin Lane, paying particular attention to the white two-story house that he still considered to be his, even though most of the memories it held weren't pleasant ones. He just couldn't let the old place go. Maybe because it was where he'd first experienced the thrill of the kill. Maybe because it kept him connected to his mother. Either way, it would always be his house, even if he couldn't always live there.

The old place showed definite signs of neglect. The unmowed lawn was littered with bits of trash, the white paint on the porch railing had flaked away in places to reveal the rotted wood underneath, some of the siding was gone, and nearly all of the windows were boarded up. People that lived nearby were playing a desperate game of pretending that this particular house didn't exist. Any adult who walked past it would immediately break into a faster walk, while he'd seen groups of young children flat out run past it, eager to get to their own homes without going too close to the creepy one that must be haunted. Unsurprisingly, it was the teenagers that were the least intimidated and his biggest annoyance. He'd watched as a pretty teenage girl in a black turtleneck sweater and bluejeans had stood for a while in the driveway, crossing her thin arms over her chest while staring intently at the house as if she were considering going closer. Releasing a breath that sounded more like a feral hiss, his body had gone rigid with anger as he'd watched the girl step up onto the porch, fingers clenching tighter around the handle of his butcher knife. Attacking the girl in broad daylight would be risky but not impossible and the killer was trying to work out the easiest way to do it until the girl had backed down, shaking her head at a group of other teenagers lurking nearby, most likely her own friends daring her to go in. His deathgrip on the knife handle loosened as he released the tense breath he'd been holding in a barely audible sigh of relief.

While he'd been with Jamie, he hadn't really felt much like killing, at least not until the old man had shown up. But coming home to Lampkin Lane, filled with people and places, sights and sounds that reached inside and touched the darkest places in him, he could feel the bloodlust that he'd ignored for so long start to awaken, slowly uncoiling itself like a poisonous snake about to bite. Normally, he would happily give in to it, but tonight he had to control himself. For Jamie's sake.

Still, some people were clearly asking for it.

Michael had always been comforted by the knowledge that the people of Haddonfield were so afraid of him that they left his house alone. If another family ever got the nerve to move in, well, anyone left alive after he'd dealt with them would be packing their bags again very soon.

The only people brave enough to show any interest in the house besides the occasional upstart teen were parked on the side of the road in a black and white police cruiser. Through the windshield Michael could barely make out the bland expressions of the two deputies inside. He had expected Sheriff Meeker to send some of his men out to keep an eye on Lampkin Lane, one of the reasons why he'd avoided going near the place, instead choosing a secluded cabin in the woods, But he was surprised and even a little insulted that there was only one cruiser here. Maybe \the authorities had given up searching for Jamie, though that didn't seem likely. Today was Halloween, after all.

Using trees as cover, Michael crept closer to the cops, so close that he could hear bits of inane conversation.

"I'm bored, Nick."

"Get used to it."

"Somebody could be dead right now and we're just sitting here."

"Meeker said stay put, Tom. So we say put until he says otherwise." A pause, then, "Can I have some of those Doritos?"

"Sure."

There followed the sound of Doritos being munched too loudly.

"Gah, your breath stinks! Feel free to turn around."

"Bet yours don't smell like roses either."

"Does too! I have a bottle of Sweetbreath right here!"

Michael was ready to slit both their throats, and thus bring a blessed end to this idiotic chatter, when the topic veered off in a more interesting direction.

"Do you think that little girl's still alive?"

"Doesn't seem likely, given Myers's reputation."

"What kind of sick freak would hurt his own niece?"

"The same sick freak that killed his own sister."

Michael gritted his teeth, wanting more than anything to silence these two morons. Mentioning his niece in the same breath as his sister was the worst kind of blasphemy. Jamie was far more deserving of his mercy than Judith or Laurie had ever been. And Haddonfield's worthless police department was the main reason she was alone right now.

Having to check for cops around his house meant he'd had to leave Jamie for most of the day, after giving her food and a hug goodbye, a hug that she had returned with a little less enthusiasm than he would've liked. This worried him. He'd made certain that she couldn't run away again, and he didn't think she'd try, but he hated leaving her alone for more than an hour. Michael didn't know at exactly what point he'd begun to love her, maybe from the first time he'd seen her flying so recklessly high on the old playground swingset, maybe since the time they'd walked through the forest and she'd willingly held his hand, but he knew without a doubt that he wanted her to stay with him. Once Jamie knew who he was, he hoped she'd want to as well. He hoped she'd love him.

More than anything, he wanted her love.

Turning his attention once more to the two bickering cops, Michael was uncertain exactly how he could kill them when they were perfectly exposed, parked on the side of the street in full view of anyone walking by. Another sign of their stupidity, they didn't even bother to properly conceal themselves. He wanted to break open their heads and see for himself how small their brains were, but he couldn't risk doing it in plain sight.

Deputy Tom and Deputy Nick still sat in the cruiser, sharing a bag of Spicy Nacho Doritos, unaware that death was lurking behind the trees just feet away from them.

Michael took an unusually long time to consider the current problem, for once thinking from every angle instead of blindly leaping into action. He realized with a keen sense of regret that their deaths wouldn't get him what he wanted. If he killed these two, Meeker would just send more. Possibly an entire squad would show up, and his chances of having the house all to himself would be shot to hell. To get uninterrupted time in the house for himself and Jamie, he'd have to find a way to distract them, do something to lure them away from Lampkin Lane and keep them away for as long as possible.

Tom and Nick didn't know it, but today was a very lucky day for them. Death had decided to pass them by.

As Michael glared daggers at the cops he was currently unable to kill while silently contemplating what sort of distraction would work best, a teenage boy with a giggling girl hanging on each arm strolled by his hiding place, so caught up in themselves that they failed to take any notice of who or what was around them. All three were wearing Halloween costumes, an outright violation of the ban that forbade anyone in Haddonfield to celebrate the holiday. Both girls were dressed as witches, draped in tight, velvety black dresses with billowy sleeves and slits up the side that provided a provocative glimpse of bare thigh. Just the sight of it made Michael tremble with frustrated desire to spill their blood. Their hair had been dyed in shades of purple and black and hung in loose waves down their shoulders, swaying enticingly as they walked. Unable to stand it any longer, Michael tried focusing his attention on the boy, but the slutty girls on either side made singling him out impossible. The entire group stopped on the sidewalk to stare at the police cruiser parked outside the infamous Myers house. One of the girls bent down to adjust the length of her robe with a safety pin, giving Michael his first clear view of the boy. A boy who, much to the killer's surprise and irritation, wore the exact same mask and jumpsuit as himself.

_There's someone else I want to kill, but can't._

It wasn't long before the cops inside the cruiser also noticed the boy's unusual costume choice. They started shouting accusations at him, in voices full of the righteous indignation of outraged authority figures.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, dressing like that tonight? You could get shot!"

The boy's voice came out muffled, but it still carried the unmistakable tone of a young person who was looking forward to a night of serious mischief making, and damn the consequences. "Hey, it's a free country! And the whole point of Halloween is to scare people and, in this town, there's no dude scarier than Michael Myers!"

"We don't do Halloween anymore! You kids all know that!"

"I do Halloween. Among other things." He nudged one of the girls, who covered her mouth with one hand in an attempt to catch the giggle before it escaped.

"Take that thing off!" One of the cops pointed at the boy's mask.

The fake Michael Myers put his hands on his hips and actually managed to look smug, given that the face he was wearing was almost without emotion. "Let's see. What would Michael Myers do in this situation?" The boy paused dramatically, as if he were seriously considering his own question. "Well, he'd probably squash both your heads like grapes, -

_Yes, I would. Along with yours. _The real Michael Myers thought sullenly.

- but since I'm not the real Michael Myers you'll have to settle for this." The boy pulled out something small and round from the pants pocket of his jumpsuit and threw it at the hood of the car. It hit with a brittle cracking sound, spreading gunk all over the shiny black paint.

"Egg!"

Following the boys lead, the two girls began pelting their own eggs at the police car, until the vehicle was covered in large splotches of slimy yellow. The policemen inside howled in fury.

"You little jerks! We just had it washed and waxed last week!"

One of the cops got out of the car, sending the girls running in the opposite direction, whereas the boy just stood there laughing.

"C'mon, Spitz!" One of the girls called over her shoulder as she ran, cursing under her breath at the length of her robe, which constantly tripped her up.

Upon seeing the pissed off Deputy, Spitz agreed with his girlfriend that this was the right time to run, and took off.

The angry cop continued to chase the kids down the street, while the one still in the car yelled, "No, Tom! We're supposed to stay put!" But Deputy Tom was too caught up in the chase to pay attention, prompting his partner to emerge from the cruiser and race after him, cursing savagely under his breath as he ran.

The kids had given him an idea. Something that would draw attention away from his house and relieve his urge to kill at the same time. He knew where he needed to go.

But first...

He waited for a moment when the streets and sidewalks were free of pedestrians, then darted out of the shadows and brought the sharp edge of his knife down on the hood of the police car. The squeals of metal scraping against metal was heard, then Michael stepped back to admire the long, deep, satisfying scratch he'd made in the paintjob.

It wasn't as fun as decapitating them would've been, but it would do.

The Shape slipped back into hiding and began making his way to his chosen killing ground.

* * *

Nurse Patsey was just finishing her rounds at the Haddonfield Children's Clinic. It had been a trying week and she was looking forward to stuffing her prim white nurse's gown into her locker and heading home. It wasn't as though she didn't like working there. She thoroughly enjoyed being around children. It was just that, sometimes the things she saw in this place twisted her heart, making a painful ache. There were so many kids there that needed help.

This was one of the places where courts would send children who'd been pulled out of abusive homes or rescued from local prostitution rings. Others would be sent here by parents at their wits end, who could no longer deal with their disturbed son or daughter. These kids were the youngest victims of the violence and decay that lay beneath the happy, suburban facade of Haddonfield. A subculture of fear that many residents knew existed but refused to give much conscious thought to, by far preferring to shove the nastiness in the back of the dark closet the human mind reserved for unpleasant truths. Annabel Patsey had started working at the clinic only three months ago, full of good intentions, then almost quit by the end of the second week when she'd met a severely malnourished three year old boy who'd been hit in the head with a wooden plank so many times he was almost brain dead. After seeing that product of human cruelty, she'd hid in the bathroom for twenty minutes before she'd been able to stop crying, and only thinking of how much the children needed help kept her going back to work.

Most of the kids were traumatized by whatever horrors had sent them here, a few were violent, and almost all of them had regular nightmares. Nurse Patsey didn't like to think of what Bryan Meers dreamed about.

Bryan had just recently been admitted to the had stopped talking after witnessing the deaths of both his parents, refusing to speak to any of his relatives or even at his parent's funeral. There was a rumor circulating among the other children at the clinic that Bryan was mute because the ghost of Michael Myers had gotten into him and forced the little boy to kill his own parents, but Patsey knew that wasn't true. He was mute because he'd seen his parents kill each other, his mother having stabbed her abusive husband in the throat just as he'd pulled the trigger of the gun he'd been threatening her with, shooting her point blank in the chest.

She came into his room holding a cup of sedative. He did nothing but stare as she approached, her shoes clicking on the polished white floor. She tipped the small plastic cup of cherry flavored liquid into Bryan's mouth, then touched his hand, caressing it in a tender, motherly way.

"Sleep tight, honey. Try not to dream."

_God help him_, she thought as she left the room.

She had just shut the door behind her when she was roughly grabbed and a knife was pressed against her throat. Her mouth opened, drawing in breath for a scream, a scream that became a gurgle because a second later the man had slashed the knife across her Adam's apple. Her hand came up shakily and touched the warm red substance staining her gown, not fully comprehending what had just been done to her. The man released her and, too dizzy and weak to stand, she fell against the door, spreading out her arms in a futile attempt to brace herself against the doorframe, Her bloodied hand slapped hard against the observation window that had been fixed into Bryan's door. As consciousness faded, she slid down the door, leaving a trail of crimson fingerprints on the clear glass pane.

The last thing Nurse Patsey saw before her life ended was the emotionless face of the man standing over her. Pale, with the blackest eyes.

_Michael Myers?_

Before her sight faded completely, the face above her seemed to melt and flow like hot wax, the features reshaping themselves, revealing what was kept hidden from living dead, soulless black eyes became wide and frightened, while the ghoulish face shifted until it became the plump, apple-cheeked face of a little boy. A boy who desperately needed help.

_But I can't help him. I don't think anyone can now._

Michael Myers stood over the woman he'd just killed, showing no emotion as he wiped her blood off his knife. He glanced into the observation window, and through the trails of blood could make out the little boy within staring at him in abject terror. A twinge of regret pierced him when he recognized the way Jamie had looked at him after he'd made the mistake of killing in front of her.

The little boy had nothing to fear. He hadn't come here to kill children, just to make the Haddonfield police think he was. The little ones were perfectly safe, so long as they didn't get in his way.

He had a job to do.

Knife in hand, he went off to find his next victim.

***

Michael Myers stood in the shadows beyond the flashing police lights, watching as, one by one, the cruisers arrived at the children's clinic. Dead doctors and nurses were being wheeled out on gurneys, some with snapped necks, a few with slit throats, and one feisty security guard whose skull had been slowly crushed after the fool had tried to shoot Michael in the chest. Sheriff Meeker himself was there, checking the bodies. Michael watched him lift up the edge of one plastic sheet to reveal the waxy face of the nurse he'd killed at the beginning of his rampage. The look of disgust and fury on the man's face assured Michael that the police would be here for a while, searching for him. They wouldn't find him.

He felt more focused now, less distracted by the urge to kill. Halloween night had come, and it was time to bring Jamie to 45 Lampkin Lane. Michael knew how he would get her to his house. It was by a way he'd often used, one that guaranteed they wouldn't be spotted, but he was certain that little Jamie wasn't going to like it.

* * *

Jamie sat on the edge of her bed, waiting anxiously for the Boogeyman to come back. When she'd woken up he'd been lying next to her again, cuddling her like a baby, and Jamie had stayed absolutely still, neither accepting nor rejecting his affection. After a few moments of gentle petting he'd released her and made her follow him into the kitchen, where he'd proceeded to lay out plates of snacks for her. Then he'd pointed at the door and then at himself, the signal he always used when he needed to go somewhere alone. He'd hugged her before he'd left, pulling her tight against his broad chest and stroking her hair tenderly, refusing to let her go until she'd hugged him back. She'd done so, wondering as her small arms stretched to wrap around his neck if she should even be touching him. He was a monster. A killer.

After he'd gone, she'd eaten the cookies and candy he'd left for her, then had headed straight for the tiled bathroom. She'd filled the porcelain tub to the brim with warm water that turned bubbly after she'd added the peppermint scented bath soap that had been left in an alcove above the tub. After slipping out of the pink princess costume she'd slept in, hanging it neatly on a towel rack, she'd splashed into the tub. Her body had quickly become coated in white, glittery foam as the bubbles clung to her, soaking her in the sweetness of peppermint. She'd laid on the bottom, stretching out her arms and legs, only keeping her head above the surface of the bubbles, just enjoying the feeling of weightlessness in the warm scented water. She'd stayed there for hours before coming out, not caring how wrinkly her skin got, letting the water remove the dirt and soothe all the cuts and bruises she'd gotten during her wild run through the forest the day before. Upon climbing out of the tub, she'd grabbed a fluffy blue towel hanging on a rack and quickly dried herself off, patting down her long brown hair until it stopped dripping. Not having anything else to wear, Jamie had once again pulled on the princess outfit, then had cautiously opened the bathroom door and peeked out into the hall, unsure if the Boogeyman was lurking somewhere nearby. He wasn't. Moving by the light of a few sputtering candles, she'd tiptoed into the kitchen, but found no Boogeyman there either. It became obvious that he hadn't come back yet, so she'd returned to her room, begun a halfhearted game with two of the Barbie dolls he'd given her, and waited.

And waited.

For the first time, Jamie found herself wishing he'd given her a watch instead of all the silly dolls. He'd been gone a long time, a lot longer than usual, and she was actually beginning to worry that something might've happened to him. The girl took a deep breath and massaged her temples, fully aware of just how ridiculous it was to worry about the safety of a six and a half foot hulk of a man who could crush human skulls with his bare hands, the same monster-man who'd kidnapped her and seemed intent on keeping her all to himself. She'd seen firsthand the violence he was capable of, senseless acts of cruelty that had frightened her worse than any imaginary ghost or goblin ever could, and yet there was something about him that she couldn't help but like a little. There was a gentle, caring side of him that, oddly enough, reminded Jamie a lot of her own mother. It was all so confusing, she didn't know whether to love or fear him.

A loud thump outside her bedroom door was the only warning Jamie had that the Boogeyman had finally returned. The door swung open and Jamie let out a little gasp as she took in his appearance. The dark blue uniform was disheveled and dirty, smeared with brown patches of something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. His breathing sounded louder than normal and his fists clenched and unclenched, as if from excitement or anger. Jamie set aside her dolls to watch him, feeling small and a little afraid.

"What...what have you been doing?" she asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.

His only response was to reach out for her, palm open and forefinger bent in his typical come-here gesture. Jamie gulped and slid off the bed, taking slow, even steps toward him on legs that weren't quite steady. He bent down, took hold under her armpits, and swung her up into his arms. Without giving her a word or gesture of his intentions, he carried her out of the cabin.

It was fully dark now and the shapes of trees were barely visible to her, yet the Boogeyman navigated through the silent forest like a bloodhound following a scent. She didn't bother to ask where they were going, but he definitely had a destination in mind. He moved briskly, purposefully, covering more ground than should be possible by just walking. In under an hour they had reached the edge of the forest and come to the first sign of civilization Jamie had seen since she'd been kidnapped. A road.

A wild idea came to her, giving her hope. Was he, finally, going to take her home?

He trailed along the edge of the road for a while, easily keeping out of sight of any cars that passed he stopped, Jamie noticed they were standing directly above a manhole cover.

_Oh no._

Any hope she had of going home disintegrated into powder and blew away in the wind when, after setting her down, he stooped and lifted the manhole cover with one hand. He dropped it to one side, heedless of the loud clang it made as it hit the concrete, and pointed down into the gaping black hole. It became clear that they had finally reached their destination, and it was a place she had never, ever wanted to go.

_He wants me to go down into the sewer?_

Jamie stammered as she tried to protest. "I-I-I can't go down there. It's too-" Dark? Scary? Gross? What word was she looking for?

He stabbed a finger once more at the hole, obviously growing impatient. Jamie could see that a ladder had been propped against the side. The first two rungs were visible, but after that the ladder appeared to drop down into nothingness.

"I can't," she whispered miserably, almost in tears.

From further down the road, a pair of headlights were bobbing towards them, the rumble of the car's engine growing steadily bothering to waste more time in a silent argument with Jamie, the Boogeyman scooped her up and, to her horror, casually stepped over the edge of the hole.

Jamie had squeezed her eyes shut, expecting a long fall, but was surprised when they hit ground level after only a few feet. The Boogeyman had landed on both feet in a shallow pool of brackish water that had soaked the cuffs of his pants, other than that they were both fine. Panting from a mixture of fear and relief, she glanced up into his face, visible as a black and white oval above her, and stiffened when he bent forward to press his rubber lips against her cheek. She took deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself down. He didn't appear to be angry with her, which meant she hopefully wouldn't be murdered anytime soon.

But her apprehension returned as he carried her deeper into the sewer, into an oppressive dark that almost seemed to have physical weight. His footsteps echoed hollowly on the cold concrete, sending up droplets of water whenever he splashed through puddles. More water dripped from leaky pipes overhead, falling on their heads and shoulders like rain. Jamie could hear the squeaks and scurrying paws of rats all around them, swarming like ants. She caught a glimpse of one unfortunate rat that darted in front of the Boogeyman in mid-stride. There followed a shrill squeak that was cut off suddenly when his heavy boot came down on its head. He walked on, leaving behind a mess of brown fur, crushed bones, and blood.

Jamie could think of no logical reason for them to be down here, which frightened her worse than the rat infested, waterlogged darkness. She squirmed in the Boogeyman's arms, causing his grip to shift so that she was pressed tighter against his chest in a way that was probably meant to be comforting. Seeking more reassurance, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, causing him to pause and give her that head tilting look she had grown so familiar with. It was too dark to read any emotion in those black eyes, but she hoped there was still some affection for her there. He trudged on, while Jamie tried to preoccupy her mind with fond memories of the bath she'd taken earlier.

Soon they came to an iron gate topped with deadly looking spikes. After shifting Jamie's weight to one arm, the Boogeyman reached out and pushed the gate open. Jamie winced as the rusty hinges protested, emitting loud squeals of tortured metal. They entered a small room lit by a single, sickly yellow lightbulb that gave off the same amount of illumination as a dying firefly, but even in that pitiful glow it still took a moment for Jamie's eyes to adjust after having grown so used to darkness. The walls were made out of red brick and plaster. One wall seemed to be covered in crude drawings along with old newspaper clippings, but she was whisked past it all before she could see many details.

She was finally set down in front of an old ladder that dangled from somewhere up in the ceiling. The light was too dim to see anything higher than the first five rungs.

"What's up there?" she asked, peering into the darkness nervously.

The Boogeyman jabbed a finger upwards. _Go up and find out._

Resigned, Jamie took a deep breath and grabbed hold of the first rung and very carefully began pulling herself up. She hated climbing, even on ladders, and prayed that the Boogeyman would be decent enough to catch her if she slipped and fell. Upon reaching the top, she saw that something or someone had gouged out huge chunks of plaster from the ceiling. Jamie could make out the ragged edges of a hole that led into another room. Taking one hand off the rungs while maintaining a deathgrip with the other, she reached up to nudge aside bits of broken plaster and masonry. When the hole was clear of debris, she crawled through and tumbled the last two feet onto a hard, stone floor.

The heavy footsteps of the Boogeyman sounded behind her as she got to her knees, rubbing her left shoulder where it had painfully struck the ground. The smell of mould was very strong, which led Jamie to suspect that they were in some kind of dungeon or basement. Something brushed against her right arm, causing her to squeak in fright until she felt the Boogeyman's calloused hand grab her own and begin tugging her to her feet. She stood up shakily and walked beside him, wondering how he could possibly know where he was going when it was as dark here as it had been in the sewers. He led her to a staircase, and held her hand tightly as they ascended into a place that, at one time, had been a cozy little house.

The room they were standing in was almost empty, except for a few worn pieces of furniture. A dusty table and some wooden chairs had been shoved into one corner, and a couch with stuffing bulging out of huge tears in the cushions lay flipped on its side by a window that someone had almost completely boarded up. Patches of faded red carpet still remained,,contrasting with the scratched wood that shone through where the rest of the stuff had eroded. The Boogeyman quickly led her out of this room and through a small kitchenette, complete with a dirty stainless steel sink and a small stove. He paused to stare at a large drawer underneath the sink, while his breathing became rapid and irregular, A few times his hand would reach out to open the drawer and then draw back, leading Jamie to suspect that there was something in there that he wanted, but was willing himself not to touch. It was a great relief to her when he finally walked away, dragging her along beside him.

They went up another flight of stairs and into a hallway that opened onto a set of bedrooms. The first bedroom they came to was completely devoid of furniture, stripped of all wallpaper and carpeting, with only a walk-in closet to show that it had once been intended to shelter a human being. Jamie was surprised when her guide let go of her hand, pointing ahead to indicate that she should go in without him. Shrugging, Jamie went in and began a hesitant exploration of the room, going straight for the walk-in closet. There were still a few skimpy dresses and jeans dangling on hangers, which weren't very interesting. What caught Jamie's eye was the small, stuffed teddy bear she discovered crammed all the way in the back. It stared forlornly up at her with big glass eyes, and Jamie felt an odd sort of kinship with the bear, both of them were lost and alone in a strange house, with a strange man.

Jamie had no idea that the bear had been her Aunt Judith's special friend when she had barely been able to walk. Indeed, she had no idea that Aunt Judith had even existed.

She returned to the Boogeyman with the bear still in her arms. Upon catching sight of the stuffed animal, he tilted his head in apparent surprise but made no move to take it from her. Grabbing her by the hand once more, he led her down the hall to the next bedroom.

This room was larger, large enough to have been the master bedroom. A huge, four poster bed, inviting despite being stripped of all its sheets, still stood in the center alongside an ornate chest of drawers. The Boogeyman let go of her hand again and approached the chest of drawers, rummaging around inside it until he pulled out three tall, white candles, a brass candelabra, and a box of matches. Above the bed hung a framed picture of a beautiful blonde woman holding a pale, dark haired boy in her lap, while a teenage girl stood with her arms crossed in the background.

After lighting the candles, inserting them in the holder, and placing it on the chest of drawers, the Boogeyman sat down on the creaky bed, forcing Jamie to sit by him. Then he reached up, and carefully took the picture off the wall, handling it as if it were the most fragile thing in existence. After placing it on his lap, he stared intently at the picture for several minutes, then turned to Jamie.

He pointed at the little boy in the picture, and then at himself. Jamie's eyes widened as she understood.

"That was _you_?!"

He nodded.

Jamie's heart sped up as the implications hit her. She pointed at the blonde woman.

"And that was your mommy?"

Another nod. Jamie found herself unable to speak for a few minutes, transfixed by the image of the beautiful woman smiling down on the little boy.

She finally got up the courage to ask, "What happened to her?"

He looked away, and it didn't take much for Jamie to guess the answer.

'She died, didn't she?"

He nodded, and Jamie, upon feeling a surge of sympathy, reached over and placed her small hand on top of his. He responded almost instantly by leaning over and resting his chin on her head while releasing a soft, pitiful moan. Feeling a little awkward, she tried to distract him. "Who's that?" she asked, pointing to the other girl in the picture.

The Boogeyman leaned away and clenched his fists, refusing to even look at the face of the sullen teenager behind his mother. Clearly, whoever it was had been someone he'd disliked intensely. Rushing to change the subject, Jamie asked, "Did...you and your mommy...live here?" She waved her arm in a broad sweep to indicate the entire house. By way of an answer, she got an emphatic nod. Jamie bit her lip and a small furrow appeared between her eyes as she started thinking hard. So this had been his house. Things were starting to make sense, sort of.

He leapt off the bed, pulling Jamie up with him while tucking the picture securely under one arm, and quickly led her back out into the dark hallway. Jamie noted with some alarm that the Boogeyman seemed to be growing even more agitated.. His breath, normally deep and even, was now coming out in fast, shallow pants and his whole body felt tense, as if he were excited or afraid. Not being able to tell what was on his mind frazzled her own nerves and made her hug the stuffed bear she still carried closer to her chest.

They entered another bedroom and Jamie blinked as her eyes were dazzled by the sudden flare of light. Water filled trays of floating white candles had been arranged in a semicircle on the wooden floor. The dancing candle flames reflected off the water, which in turn cast wavering reflections upon the cracked plaster walls and ceiling, giving the entire room an ambient, surreal look. Apart from the candles, the room was completely bare, with only a small closet to show that this bedroom had once belonged to a little boy who would grow up to be a monster.

Rotting boards creaked as they walked, sending up small clouds of sparkling dust motes that swirled in the candlelight. Jamie's heart skipped a beat as she realized this must be the place he'd meant for her to see all along.

The Boogeyman crouched in the center of the semicircle of light, patting the ground in front of him in a silent command for Jamie to do likewise. She obeyed, folding her legs underneath her so that she was sitting on her knees, continuing to hug the bear to her chest as if it could protect her from the strange being whose black eyes were focused upon her with almost frightening intensity.

Removing the framed picture of his mother from underneath his arm, he laid it with seeming reverence in the space between them. She cocked her head to one side, not even realizing that she was mimicking his own strange habit as she tried to figure out what he was up to. Her eyes widened in fear when he raised a clenched fist in her direction. It was impossible to stop herself from flinching as he brought the fist down, but instead of connecting with her face the fist made a loud impact with the loose floorboards between her knees. The sound of splintering wood filled the room as he smashed through the rotted planks like cardboard, tearing and gouging until he'd made a wide hole. From the hole he pulled out something that looked at first glance like a crumpled piece of paper. When he laid handed it to her, Jamie saw it was a mask. A colorful clown mask with a huge, happy red smile, droopy blue lidded eyes, and orange spots on each cheek.

She picked it up carefully and brushed away the dirt and dust, wondering if he meant for her to put it on. The rubber band at the back had snapped so there was nothing that would hold it to her face. Laying the mask back down, she glanced up curiously as the Boogeyman withdrew something else from the hole. This time he handed her a picture of a little boy with a baby girl in his arms. The little black haired boy was obviously him and the baby sure was cute, but Jamie had no idea what else he expected her to see.

"I don't understand," she said timidly. Pointing at the baby girl in the picture, she asked, "Who is she?"

Instead of reaching for the hole, the Boogeyman's hand dipped down into one of the pockets of his uniform. It came out holding another photograph, and slowly passed it to Jamie. Her mouth fell open as she saw it was a picture of her own mother.

"Wha...?"

The picture looked recent. Her mother was dressed in the prim black jacket and knee-length skirt she always wore to her teaching job at the university. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun. Fear wound its way through her system, tightening her muscles, and Jamie felt her arms tightening around the stuffed bear, holding it like a shield. What would he be doing with a picture of her mother?

"Do you know my mommy?"

Her innocent question ignited a bout of frantic finger pointing. He started by pointing at the baby girl in the first photo, then at the picture of Jamie's mother, then finally at himself. He did this several times, but the confusion that was plain on Jamie's face only got worse. In desperation, he traced a finger through the thick dust on the floor next to him, writing something. Jamie leaned over and saw that he had written a single word in large, jagged letters.

SISTER

He held up the photo of Jamie's mother and thrust it in her face, stopping a centimeter from her nose.

Jamie's grip on the stuffed bear slackened. A second later the bear tumbled from her limp arms as she processed this new information and drew the obvious conclusions.

_The blonde woman in the picture was my grandmother, her daughter is my mother, and the little boy is my -_

"You....you can't be my...Mom never said..!" Her voice broke as her young mind curled in on itself..

He wrote another word in the dust, jabbed the grimy finger hard into her chest, then did the same to himself. Very slowly, Jamie leaned over to see what he'd written this time.

UNCLE

Every thought inside her head melted like overheated sand, became cold and clear as glass-eyed shock set in, "But...!" The girl's weak protests trailed off as she struggled to sift through the evidence. Hadn't her mother always known things that she'd refused to share with her? Secrets that she thought Jamie was too little to know? Like maybe the fact that she happened to be related to the Boogeyman?

"Uncle...Boogeyman?"

He shook his head, and the finger once again drew a word in the dust next to the one he'd written earlier. A name.

UNCLE MICHAEL

_.Uncle Michael?_ The girl sucked on her bottom lip and glanced up uncertainly at the monster-man crouching in front of her. To her surprise, she saw his whole body was trembling. Jamie could barely make out the eyes behind the mask, and for once they actually looked _frightened_. Like he was afraid she'd hurt him, as ridiculous as that sounded. His sudden vulnerability gave her the courage to ask the question she'd wanted to ask since the first day she'd met him. _If he's really my uncle, then m_a_ybe._..

"Can I see?" She pointed at the white mask and mimed taking it off.

He froze, his whole body going rigid as granite, making Jamie wonder if she'd gone too far. Then she felt her stubborn side return with a vengeance. If he expected her to believe him, then he _had_ to do this.

Trembling fingers reached behind his head and pulled on the rubber flaps. Jamie held her breath, her brown eyes growing huge, as the ghastly white mask was removed. A small sigh escaped him as his true face was revealed in the candlelight.

Jamie was speechless. The right side of his face bore lines of puffy, reddish scars that looked as though they had never healed properly, the worst one running from his right eye all the way down to the base of his chin. The skin looked rough and burnt. It was horrible to look at, but the left side...

...the left side was perfect, with round, smooth, babyish cheeks, a thin mouth, and a small nose that looked like her own. His black hair was long, almost to his shoulders, and his bangs flopped messily down to his nose. Through the falling hair, Jamie could make out thick eyelashes above a pair of eyes that were big and childlike. Eyes that were very, very black but also...human. Without the mask he couldn't keep his eyes from betraying what he was feeling. They were too expressive, like her own. He turned away, but not before Jamie saw the look of shame and embarrassment that flashed across his face. It was the same expression she'd had on her face the first time she'd looked in the bathroom mirror and spotted a huge pimple popping up right in the middle of her forehead.

_He thinks he's ugly!_

But he wasn't.

She laid one hand on his unscarred cheek and said in a voice that was soft with wonder.

"You look just like me."

Jamie had about three seconds to brace herself before she was engulfed in a hug so tight she could hardly breathe. All she could see was the dark blue collar of his shirt as she felt him gently nuzzle the scarred side of his face against her soft cheek, felt the scratch of his sandpapery skin and an unmistakable wetness that could only mean one thing. She pulled back to look at his face and, sure enough, saw that he was crying. Tears were pouring from the black eyes that had fought for so long to hold back any trace of emotion. On impulse, she reached up to wipe one tear away. And in that moment, he ceased to be the Boogeyman and became her Uncle Michael who, at that same moment, forgot his rage and felt nothing but total adoration for the little girl in his arms.

Jamie leaned in, and kissed her uncle on his scarred cheek, prompting him to hug her even tighter. .

"JAMIE!"

The moment was broken as the startled pair looked up and saw a furious Laurie Strode standing in the doorway. She was holding an axe.


	13. Chapter 13

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for swearing and blood.

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie {AU}

**Disclaimer**: Own nothing.

**Author's Note:**: I apologize if this is somewhat shorter than my other chapters. I'm not so good with fight scenes. Yet. And as for the ending, well, you guys are gonna hate me.

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

_Blue eyes say, Love me or I die; black eyes say, Love me or I kill thee._

**-Spanish proverb**

* * *

"You look just like me."

When she'd asked to see his true face, he'd felt afraid for the first time since he was six years old. Burning hospitals, lynch mobs, gruesome acts of violence and torture, none of that terrified him as much as the idea of losing her. If this made her afraid of him...if his ugly, mutilated face revolted her...Michael wasn't sure exactly what he might do. He'd been so tempted to ignore her request but from the intense look in her eyes he'd known that the mask was the only thing keeping her from acknowledging him as her uncle. Taking it off had made him feel like a little boy again, a target for bullies and his arrogant older sister. But when she'd seen his face, seen all the scars and burns that made him hideous, yet hadn't screamed or pushed him away, then Michael knew he had never loved anything more than he'd loved Jamie at that moment. In the time it took him to pull her into his arms, a million different fantasies had come to mind, all of them involving him taking Jamie away from Haddonfield, away from the wretched human race, and raising her as his own.

And now Laurie had come to ruin everything. _Damn her!_

His sister was blocking the doorway, gripping the axe with both hands. She looked a mess. Huge dark circles were under her eyes, a sign of someone who had seen many sleepless nights. The dark circles stood in sharp contrast to the pallor of her skin, which had gone white from shock and anger. The hair that -- the last time he'd seen it -- had been a healthy shade of blonde, now hung limply down her back, tangled in knots and dull as copper. In another life, he may have felt sympathy for her but not here and not now. She stepped forward, keeping her brown eyes fixed on his black ones. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral snarl.

"I knew you'd be here tonight," said Laurie through clenched teeth. "You can fool the cops but you can't fool me." She raised the axe, the metal blade glinting ominously in the candlelight. "Get away from my daughter, Michael!"

Michael hissed at his sister in defiance, keeping both arms wrapped around his beloved niece, making it clear he had no intention of giving her up. Laurie's black blouse was open in a V-line at the neck that shifted slightly every time she moved. Michael thought he could make out the outline of a bandage underneath her clothing. located on her upper left arm, obviously a souvenir from where he'd stabbed her the night he'd taken Jamie. That arm would be weak and stiff. A disadvantage he could use.

Squirming in Michael's grasp, Jamie finally managed to meet her mother's eyes.

"M-Mommy?" she squeaked, her small voice laced with confusion.

"It's going to be okay, honey." Laurie reassured her daughter while taking another step forward, brandishing the axe. Speaking slowly, enunciating each word while glaring at her brother, Laurie growled, "_Let her go!"_ She came close enough to her brother to finally see his face. Then Laurie stopped dead in her tracks, her white-knuckled grip on the wooden axe handle loosening ever so slightly. Her mouth hung open. Up until then, Michael had completely forgotten that he wasn't wearing his mask. Now his little sister was gawking at him like he was a freak on display. Scowling at her, he reached out with one hand to pick up the mask and slam it back down over his face while his other arm remained firmly wrapped around Jamie.

"What are you doing with her?"demanded Laurie. "And why is she dressed like that?'

Jamie looked down at herself, still wearing the frilly pink princess outfit that her uncle had given her the day before. She felt ridiculous in it now, as if she were a pretty toy that everybody wanted. The look of fear and panic in her mother's eyes, however, instantly snapped her out of her own self-consciousness. Biting her lip in anxiety, Jamie spoke up in a quavering, scared voice, "Mom, he's my uncle!' The girl winced as the arms holding her tightened.

"I know! Has he hurt you?"

"Nuh...no, but..."

She yelped in pain as Michael's grip around her became vicelike, possessiveness and anger causing him to forget his strength. This was all the provocation Laurie needed. She lunged forward, raising the axe at the exact moment Michael's right arm unwound itself from Jamie and dove into the pocket of his jumpsuit concealing his butcher knife.

"NO!" Jamie screamed. Her sudden shout startled Michael enough that his hold on her loosened. Without stopping to think, she smacked the knife out of his hand. It made a dull ringing sound as it landed on the wooden boards a foot away from him. His arms tried to encircle her again but she shook them off and bolted to her mother, who roughly shoved her daughter behind her.

"Stay away from us, Michael!" Laurie began backing slowly out the door, placing her left hand on Jamie's shoulder while continuing to threaten Michael with the axe.

For a moment, Michael could only watch helplessly as Laurie and Jamie retreated from him. Underneath the mask, his face was contorted in pain and grief, twisting his scars into livid red patterns, the overall effect of which made him appear entirely demonic. The thing he'd feared most had finally happened. Jamie had chosen Laurie over him. Heartbreak mixed with boiling anger inside him, sending him to the brink of self-control. Insanity overruled reason and pushed him on over the edge. One all-consuming purpose filled his mind, the act he'd trained himself to carry out without mercy or remorse.

_Kill._

* * *

It didn't take long for Michael to snap out of whatever trance he'd been in, pick himself and his knife up off the floor, and start lumbering toward them. Laurie hadn't expected him to give up easy but she'd be damned if she'd let him have Jamie again. Her daughter cowered behind her, frail, waiflike body shaking in terror, and Laurie's heart skipped a beat when her mind began dredging up all the horrific things that Michael might've done to her in the past two weeks. All the pain her poor daughter had been forced to endure.

But where did the fairy princess Halloween costume fit in? Was it a sick joke or..."

There was no time left to puzzle it out because Michael was almost on top of her. She swung low with the axe, intending to slice open his stomach, but he sidestepped her strike easily, fearing the axe blade as much as he would a styrofoam bat. His strong hands clamped down on the wooden handle and pulled hard, intending to wrench the weapon out of her hands. She hung on desperately, crying out when raw pain flared in her shoulder as the stitches holding together the old knife wound there tore open, staining the bandage with bright crimson. She screamed again as the axe was torn away from her, leaving her defenseless. Instead of using the axe, Michael tossed it unceremoniously over his shoulder where it stuck in the wooden floor with a metallic clunk. Laurie turned to run, and received a grazing swipe from Michael's knife that carved a long, searing line of fire across her back.

"Uncle, don't hurt her!" Jamie screamed. Michael tilted his head, as if considering it, then lunged forward again, knife raised and ready.

"C'mon!" Taking her daughter's hand, Laurie bolted down the dark hallway. Upon spotting the master bedroom she ducked into it and slammed the door. Searching for something to sue against Michael, she spotted the heavy oak chest of drawers and, with a massive, adrenaline induced effort, began pulling it to the door.

Jamie stood off to one side, rigid and unmoving, her brown eyes glazed in shock. "Hide in there!" Laurie pointed at the walk-in-closet, then dragged the chest of drawers the last few feet and positioned it by the door.

"But...?" Her daughter's voice was wavering, indecisive.

_"Do it, Jamie!"_

Jamie ran over to the closet, the pink sleeves of her costume flapping like sails. Grasping the tiny knob, she yanked aside the folding door.

Then gave a piercing, bloodcurdling shriek as the decomposing body of a teenaged girl tumbled out.

"Shit!" cried Laurie, nauseated by what her baby girl had accidentally discovered. The girl looked like she'd been dead for god know's how long. Her eyes were gone, eaten away by mice or insects, and her yellow skirt was tattered and faded. From the waist up nothing covered her except a bloodstained bra. It didn't take a forensics expert to understand how she'd died. There was nothing but a gaping hole where her heart should've been, just a hollowed out human chest filled with nothing but brown, crusty dried blood.

Sobbing hysterically, Jamie ran back to Laurie for protection only to scream once again as her uncle's fist smashed through the door, sending bits of splintered wood everywhere. Her mind flashed back to the time, less than an hour ago, when her uncle had brought her to this same room to show her the picture of his dead mother.

The angry blows continued falling upon the door, which shook violently. Michael widened the hole until he could put his entire arm through. Jamie and her mother stood behind the chest of drawers, waiting for him to reach inside and grab the doorknob. He did, turning the knob while pushing the nearly destroyed door with enough force to tear it from its hinges. Dust settled around his bulky form as he took two steps into the room. Jamie covered her mouth with both hands to keep from screaming.

Using all her strength, Laurie shoved the chest of drawers until it tipped over and collapsed upon Michael, trapping him underneath its weight. For a second the attack appeared to have stunned him, then the bureau began to shudder with Michael's furious attempts to rise. Not about to waste any more time, Laurie grabbed her daughter's hand and hurriedly dragged her past the wreckage. But not before a hand shot out and fastened around the girl's ankle, causing her to trip and fall to the floor. Jamie looked back, and straight into her uncle's black, unreadable eyes just as he began pulling her to him.

_"Mommy!"_ Jamie shrieked, futilely trying to hold onto the floor as she was dragged backwards.

Screaming, Laurie snatched up a sharp piece of wood and jabbed it into Michael's arm until he let go. Snatching her daughter up in her arms, she ran from the room and headed straight for the staircase. taking the stairs two at a time in her frenzy to escape the house, knowing full well that her psychotic brother would not stay down for long.

* * *

Michael was up and in motion the second Laurie and Jamie had left his sight, the oak chest having been thrown off as if it weighed next to nothing. No one would stop him from claiming what was his.

He descended the stairs, moving a little faster than usual but still keeping his easy, graceful pace. There were voices on the landing directly below him, and he instantly recognized the high-pitched, scared voice of little Jamie. He wanted his niece back, and if that meant he'd have to kill Laurie, then so be it. Jamie would have no choice but to stay with him then.

They had bolted away by the time he'd reached the bottom of the stairs, but that didn't concern him at the moment. What he needed was in the kitchen, underneath the sink and inside a drawer that he had been too cautious to open before. Now he slid the drawer out, sighing happily to see that his prized possession was still there. In another time, the drawer had held a variety of forks, knives, and spoons. Now it held only a single kitchen knife, frighteningly long and tipped with a wicked point, that had been lovingly polished and cared for. It had, a long time ago, helped him rid his life of a few pests, including his older sister.

Michael left the kitchen to find his little girl, a soft blue light sliding along the edge of his favorite blade.

* * *

Laurie had only one goal as she stumbled through the dark house, to get her daughter out safely. Even though she couldn't see her brother, she knew he wasn't far behind. Michael's heavy breathing was getting closer, steady and even as a panting racehorse, and the click of his footsteps echoed throughout the empty foyer. She ran for the shattered remains of the front door, which had been boarded up and locked until she'd chopped through the wood with her axe. Through the hole in the door she could see the streetlights of Lampkin Lane. They lit up the surrounding houses, reflected off parked cars, revealed the outside world in all its simple, blessed normalcy. So unlike the living hell her and Jamie were trapped in.

She set Jamie down. and pushed her toward the way out. The hole was large enough for only one person to slip through at a time, and without the axe there was no way for Laurie to make it larger.

"Get outside! Now!"

The girl didn't argue. She pulled herself through the hole, wincing because of the sharp splinters that pricked her hands. Jamie was almost outside when there was a scream behind her, a loud thumping sound, and then another scream. When she turned to see what was happening, she was horrified to find her uncle pinning her mother against his body with one arm, and preparing to drag a huge knife across her throat with the other. Laurie struggled to get free, but Michael was much too strong. That didn't stop her from shoving and pushing against him as much as she could and noticing her daughter scrambling back inside the house only made her fight harder. If she was about to die, she didn't want Jamie to have to witness it.

_"\Jamie, just run!"_

_"_No, Uncle! _Stop!"_ Jamie ran back to them, ignoring her mother's plea. She threw herself to the ground before her uncle, looking like a pink cherub at the feet of a giant, making a tearful effort to beg for her mother's life. Michael's blade was now pressed so hard against Laurie's throat that a few beads of blood were trickling down her chest and underneath the collar of her shirt. He gazed down at his niece curiously, but didn't remove the knife.

The girl could think of only one thing that might get through to him and possibly save her mother's life. Taking a deep breath, praying that she had read him right, Jamie whispered in a voice that was strained and hoarse from crying.

"Please, Uncle Michael, don't do this!! I love you."

Her uncle's whole body stiffened in shock, then his knife arm slowly, slowly lowered until it dangled limply at his side. His hostage took the opportunity to try to break free, but was thrown to one side by a callous shove, as if her body was nothing but dead weight, and landed heavily upon an old wooden table that crunched into kindling beneath her. Dazed, Laurie could only watch helplessly as Michael kneeled down in front of her daughter.

He put his arms around her, and Laurie forgot to breathe.

_What? Was he hugging her?_

It was a ridiculous notion, but even as she watched, she saw Michael, murderous, raging Michael Myers, entire demeanor begin to soften as he started stroking Jamie's hair, smoothing it down and brushing it away from her sweaty forehead. He handled the little girl like she was breakable, like he actually cared if she lived or died. And, weirder still, Jamie wasn't screaming or trying to get away, but submitted to it, actively snuggling into his embrace, half burying her tearstained face in the murderer's chest. It was the single most disturbing sight Laurie had ever seen.

She began crawling toward them, determined to get to her daughter and find out just what the hell was going on.

* * *

She loved him.

In spite of everything, Jamie loved him.

The possibility that it was a lie momentarily eclipsed the joy he felt, but Michael forced the thought from his mind as he crouched in front of the little girl. She had said the words, which was enough for now. His niece was shaking as he pulled her into his arms, making him feel a pang of remorse for having scared her in his effort to kill her mother. He sighed as he took in the scent of her hair, picking up a faint trace of the peppermint bubble bath she had taken earlier. _So sweet. _He could protect her, take care of her, get her anything she wanted., and she would never leave him again. Jamie wriggled in his arms, turning her head to one side so that her cheek was pressed against his massive chest. His fingers played with her hair, picking at the silky strands, while a deep rumbling issued from the back of his throat, much like the purr of a satisfied cat.

"Mom, it's okay," said Jamie in a soft, reassuring whisper. Glancing up, Michael caught sight of Laurie on her hands and knees, inching her way toward them. He glared at his sister with such black malevolence in his eyes that she paused, her own blue eyes widening in fear as if she were about to be crushed underneath an oncoming train. Jamie loved her mother, and for that reason he'd spare her life, but that didn't mean he really wanted to share her with his little sister. Perhaps he'd kill Laurie later, when Jamie wasn't around.

"Michael...?" Laurie tried to speak, uncertain of exactly what she was going to say.

"It's allright. He won't hurt us," assured Jamie, placing one small hand on her uncle's shoulder.

"Jamie, what's going on?" Laurie had never imagined she would see her brother act like this. Like he was human.

_?..Could he actually care about his niece?_

"Michael...?" Laurie tried again to form a sentence, but failed. She reached out to her brother instead.

When he felt Laurie's fingertip lightly brush against his shirt collar, instinct kicked in. Before he'd even realized he was moving, Michael had retrieved his kitchen knife and was plunging it down into flesh...

"UNCLE! STOP!"

Into Jamie's flesh.

If he could've screamed out loud, he would have. Instead, he could only listen to the raw, primal screams in his mind.

* * *

It had all happened _so fast!_

_"Michael, what have you done!?"_ Laurie screamed, stunned by the speed at which it had all happened. She'd had no warning of Michael's attack, since he'd become so nice and docile. Jamie, however, had sensed the sudden tightening in his muscles. She'd glanced up worriedly, seeing her mother's finger a hairsbreadth away from making contact with the dark blue shirt, and remembered from past experience that her uncle did not like to be touched by people, not unless he trusted you first. Laurie's soft touch had ripped Michael from a state of quiet gentleness to adrenaline driven rage in seconds, and ,with no time for anything else, Jamie had pulled free of him and thrown herself in front of her defenseless mother while screaming for him to stop.

And had been stabbed in the chest.

_"Jamie!"_ Laurie lunged for her daughter, who'd already started to convulse, but was cut short by Michael. Her brother crouched over Jamie's body, rocking back and forth while waving his hands frantically, as if he were trying to shoo away gnats. She stretched out a hand toward him but he slapped it away. She tried again, intending to touch Jamie, and was once again kept back. Her daughter was still breathing, but it was harsh and labored. Her mouth moved as she tried to talk, but could make little more noise than a horrible gurgling as blood filled the back of her throat. A bead of crimson oozed out of her mouth and trickled down her pale chin. The blade had gone in underneath her sternum and was sticking out at an angle. Blood was welling up around the wound, seeping through her clothes and staining her pink costume like a macabre rose.. Her precious baby was dying right in front of her. Now, more than ever, Laurie knew she had to get Michael to let Jamie go.

Laurie focused on her brother, whose whole body was shaking, falling apart from the inside. She could tell he was slipping away, blocking out the reality of what he'd done, dealing with it the only way he knew how.

"Michael, I have to take her to the hospital or she'll die!"

He didn't move.

"Please Michael, give her to me!" She begged, letting her face fall open to show the sheer desperation she felt. It occurred to Laurie that she'd never begged her older brother for anything before, not even to let her live back when he'd been doing his best to kill her.

It worked. Michael carefully lifted Jamie's limp body in his arms, cradling her like a baby for a short second, then passed her over to Laurie. Without another word Laurie jumped up and fled from the house, with Jamie, a beautiful, bleeding little doll, clinging to life in her arms.

After they left, Michael slowly rose to his feet and began to wander aimlessly through the house. He ascended the staircase that led up to the bedrooms, going into all the places that he had taken Jamie, wrinkling his nose a little at the disgusting stink of the rotting corpse that had fallen out of the closet in the master bedroom. He tried to remember why he'd wanted to keep the body here but couldn't, nor could he even remember why he'd killed the girl in the first place. Finally, he wandered into his own room, still filled with sputtering candles, and knelt down on the dirty floor to pick up the stuffed bear that had belonged to his dead sister, and had briefly belonged to his now dying niece.

A few moments later the Haddonfield police department raided the house, guns drawn and ready to take out one of the most notorious serial killers in the world, but instead came upon a broken man, holding a stuffed bear to his chest, silently crying.


	14. Chapter 14

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for swearing and blood.

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie AU

**Disclaimer**: Own nothing.

**Author's Note**: First off, I apologize a million times for making you guys wait so long for an update. A combination of writer's block, real life crises, and plain ol' laziness has kept me from finishing this thing. This chapter proved too long for my short attention span to cope with all in one go so I broke it into two parts. Which means this story will be a chapter longer than I originally planned. I don't know if I'm completely happy with the way it turned out so I'll let you guys be the judge. But I WILL finish this story, however long it takes!

And on that note...

**Chapter Fourteen**

_There will be no prayers on your return _

_And there will be no party thrown _

_And you will find your inheritance _

_Is the silence that's grown _

_It is the seed that you've sown _

_Maybe I'm not crazy, just inconsolable _

**-Jonatha Brooke, "Inconsolable"**

It had long been suspected among most of the inmates of Smith's Grove Sanitarium that whoever supplied the place with beds held a particularly nasty grudge against the mentally ill. Hard, ancient mattresses, stiff white sheets that never lost a certain soapy smell, and lumpy pillows made getting a good nights sleep about as likely as resting comfortably on a slab of very thick plywood .Not that Michael had been sleeping well anyway, third-rate accommodations notwithstanding, ever since the last night he'd seen Jamie. Memories of that awful night still haunted him, flashing into his mind at random times when he was awake and tormenting his dreams when he was put to sleep by the sedatives the nurses gave him.

_The knife in his hand_

Michael laid on his bed with his hands at his sides, doing nothing but staring at the white ceiling. He wasn't chained at the moment, which meant he could move about his room freely if he wished. The only items of furniture in the room besides the bed were a small table fronted by a couple of plastic chairs. Though they were keeping him in the maximum security wing, he was confident he could escape again if he really wanted to. Except, in his current state of quiet grief, he didn't.

_The blood on her dress_

Everything that had happened after Laurie had taken Jamie to the hospital had felt like a dream, a chaotic whirl of disconnected images. Jamie's gone. She's gone. She's gone. That thought had set his head to throbbing as if a nail were being pounded into it, each hammer blow increasing the pain. When it became too much to bear, he'd collapsed onto his hands and knees. His right hand brushed against something soft and he'd instinctively grabbed at it. From the light of a few feeble candles, he found himself staring into the glass eyes of the teddy bear Jamie had left behind.

He'd stroked the brown fur, imagining it to be Jamie's hair. Cradling the bear in his arms, The Shape rocked back and forth as his black eyes filled with tears.

The splintering crunch of the front door being kicked in had echoed up the stairs, but Michael hadn't moved. Booted feet rattled the staircase as they pounded up to the second floor, then shouts could be heard as someone discovered the rotting corpse that had formerly been stuffed in a closet. Seconds later, they'd found him.

He'd still been kneeling on the cold floor when the police had stormed into the bedroom. Michael had barely heard the shouting, angry voices of the policemen as they had surrounded him while blinding him with their flashlights, or felt the rough way their calloused hands had pushed him down to the ground. The bear had been wrenched from his arms. Six of them had held him down spreadeagled on the cold wooden floor, using every ounce of their strength to keep him still. He'd stretched out one hand, making a pathetic grab for the teddy bear but someone kicked it away from him. It landed among a group of sputtering candles where it began to burn, tiny flames licking up one velvet paw.

The rest had clamped heavy iron manacles onto his legs and arms, shackling him. He'd briefly considered fighting back but found he lacked the willpower or the inclination to care very much at all about what they did to him. As he was led away, he caught a last glimpse of the bear, now a smoldering lump of charred fabric. An officer was stomping on it, trying to put out the flames.

_. My little girl._

He vaguely remembered walking out of his own house in chains, with guns pointed at him from every angle. Police cruisers were everywhere, sirens blaring, their red, white, and blue lights strobing up and down Lampkin Lane. People were coming out of their houses to see what was going on. There was more shouting, children were screaming.

"Michael Myers!"

"They got him! They got him!"

"The Boogeyman?"

One middle-aged woman with a baby in her arms called out to a nearby officer," Did you find the little girl? Is she still alive?" His answer was drowned out by the loud blare of the sirens. Michael had tried to tune it all out, to disappear into the old familiar trance state where emotions didn't exist. He wished all the people would go away and leave him alone.

_I hate you all._

He'd been surrounded by his own armed escort for a while, hard-faced young men carrying rifles who seemed to be waiting for the slightest excuse to unload a few rounds into him. Everyone else gave him a wide berth. As he'd stood waiting to be carted off to whatever holding facility they had planned for him, Michael saw a red=faced Sheriff Meeker shouting orders into a walkie-talkie. Meeker had appeared to be either on the verge of a nervous breakdown or, more likely, unleashing a small volcano's worth of pent-up fury. His craggy face had been covered by a shiny veneer of sweat, his hazel eyes bulged slightly, and drops of spit had flown from his mouth as he yelled. When the Sheriff of Haddonfield caught sight of Michael staring at him, the effect was roughly the equivalent of pulling the pin out of a live grenade. Feigning the utmost calm, Meeker had tucked the walkie-talkie back into his belt, marched briskly up to the masked man, and, after a contemplative moment, let fly with an excellent right-cross that connected solidly with Michael's face. Michael had reeled back a step, startled, and the guards around him tensed, expecting retaliation. After regaining his balance, Michael had just stared at the Sheriff, who'd stared right back. The punch had broken Michael's nose, but he didn't care. In fact, he was a little grateful.

It had felt good.

"Get him out of my sight!" Meeker snapped, sounding disgusted. He'd given Michael a final, venomous glare then stormed away.

One shotgun-toting officer had pushed him into the back of an armored car. Then the driver and his partner had gotten in, both of them smelling strongly of sweat and gunpowder. Michael could vaguely see the shadowy outlines of their backs through the thick Plexiglas barrier that was supposed to keep them safe from him. Then two more men got in the backseat with him, one on his left side, one on his right. They'd looked like paramedics. There was a muffled curse directed at him, then Michael felt the sharp prick of a needle in his neck. His vision had grown blurry as sounds became muffled, growing fainter and fainter. He hadn't fought it. Unconsciousness was preferable to all the turmoil around him now.

He'd woken up chained to the bed in his current room at Smith's Grove. Sam Loomis had come in, accompanied by two armed security guards, to welcome him back, though Michael suspected the old doctor privately wished the Haddonfield Boogeyman would never open his eyes again. For once, Michael and his psychiatrist both wanted the same thing.

_My precious little girl_

Loomis had gone on to ask if Michael was comfortable and if he needed anything. The fact that the doctor bothered to ask at all had been a surprise. Michael had wanted to ask about Jamie, to know if she were still alive, but of course he had been unable.

Michael wasn't sure how much time had passed since he'd been locked up. It had been at least a few months. They kept him isolated from the other patients, who were all terrified of him. Women, especially, would break into hysterics at catching even a glimpse of his white mask whenever he was escorted through the hallways to therapy sessions with Dr. Loomis, his footsteps slow and shuffling because of the heavy chains bound to his ankles.

Nurses in white uniforms and caps would come in at scheduled times to bring him food, their faces strained and hands shaking slightly from fear. They'd deposit each tray on the table by his bed without saying a word, then slip out again, grateful to have escaped with their lives. Hurting them might've made him feel better, but they were always accompanied by half a dozen armed security guards. No one trusted him. He barely tasted the food, when he bothered to eat at all.

In all the time he'd been back at the asylum, no one had breathed a word to him about Jamie.

Michael leapt off the bed and began to pace, looking more than ever like a caged animal. e couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know if his precious girl was alive. If she still lived, then nothing would stop him from getting to her. He'd kill anyone he had to to get her back. And if she was dead...

If she was dead...if he'd killed her...then it would be easy enough to provoke the guards into putting a fatal amount of bullets into him. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to strangle one of the pretty young nurses before they took him down, one final victim to take with him to the grave..

There had to be a way to find out!

His eyes widened as he had an idea. Why not send his psychiatrist a clue? Something that wouldn't tail to attract the good doctor's attention? If Loomis had a flaw, it was not being able to leave well enough alone. He wouldn't be able to resist if, after all this time, Michael showed signs of wanting to communicate. And he knew exactly how he could do it. Crayons and paper were the only nonessential items he was allowed to bring into his room. It wouldn't be too hard to get his hands on could do it the next time he was let out.

Michael sat back down on the bed, and waited for his chance.

Another day at Smith's Grove, another day of madness.

_I'm getting too old for this_, Sam Loomis thought as he laid his head in his hands. His calloused fingers slowly rubbed circles against his temples, trying to stave off the inevitable migraine that was the result of a day spent counseling patients, prescribing medications, and lecturing Intro Psych college students with the combined attention span of a schizophrenic flea. He still had several papers to write, progress reports on patients, or in some cases, a distinct lack of progress. I really should start looking into retirement. One of the old scars on the back of Loomis's right hand started to itch, as if to remind him that retirement was impossible as long as certain things remained unfinished.

_Michael. _

Loomis knew his obsession was unhealthy, but he had given up trying to rationalize his feelings whenever Michael Myers was concerned. Out of all the patients at the sanitarium, Michael had been in his care the longest. He'd watched Michael grow from a little boy to the young man he was now, never saying a word, always hiding his face behind a paper mask. Loomis used to spend hours trying to get the man to talk. He'd ask Michael about his family. _Do you feel guilty about your mother's suicide?_ He'd try to reason with him. T_he rage won't go away if you remain silent, Michael. You need to talk._ He'd try to compromise. _Write something for me, Michael, if you can't say it_. Michael had sat through it all without moving, a living statue dressed in a rumpled asylum uniform.

Eventually, he'd begun having the guards chain Michael to his bed every night. He'd plead his case to the review board, begging them to put Michael somewhere more secure. Michael had made absolutely no progress in fifteen years and Loomis feared that the rage that had been building up inside him for years was at a breaking point. If Michael gave into it, all hell would break loose.

Hell had broken loose, and Loomis had nearly perished in the flames. Sometimes he'd wake up at night drenched in sweat, certain that he was still trapped in the burning hospital. He'd never been certain how he'd survived that fire, all he remembered was waking up in an emergency shelter surrounded by EMT's with an oxygen mask strapped to his face. He'd been astonished to catch a blurry glimpse of Michael being wheeled away on a stretcher, apparently alive but unconscious. Loomis had wearily closed his eyes, cursing the fact that neither he nor his monstrous patient were dead.

_I took this job to help people_, he thought. _To understand them and help them. But I don't know how to help Michael at all. I failed him and his family. _

He tried to block out the memory of the last time he'd seen sweet, smiling little Jamie.

_That poor child._

Loomis was spared from continuing this miserable train of thought by a knock on the door. "Come in!" he shouted, sitting up straighter in his chair and doing his best to look composed. Nurse Kathy poked her head through the door, flashing a shy smile at Loomis.

"Um..sir. I was making my usual rounds and I just happened to glance in on Michael Myers."

_I'm sure you did_, he thought. Michael was a frequent subject of gossip among the nurses. "And?"

Kathy shuffled back as step, fiddling with the buttons on her white uniform, "He's been drawing pictures. They're all over his room."

Loomis raised an eyebrow.

"You really should see for yourself, sir. "

His curiosity piqued, Loomis followed Kathy out of his office. As a child, Michael had been quite an artist. Loomis had been fascinated by the strange pictures he'd produced, swirling, abstract paintings of shadowy phantasms that merged and melded into each other like a Rorschach inkblot. For three years, Loomis had tried to connect with Michael through art, encouraging the boy to draw pictorial representations of his feelings, but as he'd withdrawn further and further into himself Michael's interest in such things had waned until it vanished altogether. If he was showing the slightest interest in art again, something important was happening.

Their footsteps echoed through the eerily quiet hallways of the sanitarium. When they got to Michael's door, Loomis took one look through the glass pane and gasped, "Good Lord!"

Pictures covered the plaster walls from floor to ceiling, bound in place by pieces of tape. All were brightly colored, unlike the dark, menacing paintings he had made as a child. Even now, Michael was sitting at the small table, bent over his latest creation scribbling furiously with a yellow crayon. And Loomis could see, even at this distance, that they were all pictures of Michael and a little girl who closely resembled his niece.

Loomis felt his heart rate increase as he watched Michael work, appearing to be totally absorbed in coloring the stick figure representations of himself and Jamie. Then Michael gave a sign that he was well aware he was being watched when he glanced up from the paper and locked eyes with his psychiatrist. Loomis fought back the scowl that was usually his first response when Michael tilted his head to one side, a maddeningly enigmatic gesture that never failed to irritate the old man. Samuel forced himself to stare hard into Michael's eyes

Is it my imagination, or do his eyes look more..._alive_ than usual?

A moment later Michael lowered his eyes and carefully scrutinized the drawing. He reached out and selected a different crayon from the box in front of him, a green one this time.

Swallowing audibly, Loomis tried to compose himself as he turned to face the nurse behind him. who did a poor job of concealing her curiosity.

"I think my next session with Michael should begin immediately.."

Twenty minutes later, after he'd been checked for weapons and bound in chains, Michael was led into the empty classroom where they had sessions together. Dr. Loomis fidgeted with his tie as Michael sat down in the metal chair across from him and placed his palms flat on the table as far apart as the restraints would allow. When Michael had been brought back to the sanitarium, no one had suggested removing his mask, in fact Loomis had advised strongly against it. Now the doctor wished he could tear the damn thing off the man's face. It gave nothing away, not a hint of a clue of what Michael was feeling or thinking. Loomis tried to peer through the eyeholes but Michael turned his head just enough to obstruct his view, obviously unwilling to give anything away just yet. The old man cleared his throat, knowing he'd have to play this game carefully.

"I see you've taken up drawing again, Michael."

He produced one of the colorful pictures that had been taped all over the walls of Michael's room. It showed a tall, dark shape with a white face holding the hand of a much smaller shape wearing what appeared to be a white dress. The stick figure hands were joined in a small scribble of black crayon, making them appear to be a single dot. Triangular green shapes formed the background, and a cartoonish orange sun hung above the scene like an enormous grapefruit.

Loomis pointed a finger at the green shapes, "Are these trees?" He kept his voice purposefully light.

He received a fractional incline of Michael's head as a answer..Lacking any other subtle clues, Loomis decided to interpret it as a "yes." His skin began to tingle from excitement. In terms of communication, it was the most he'd gotten from this particular patient in years.

"If I'm not mistaken, you kept the daughter of Laurie Strode in a cabin deep in the forest outside Haddonfield." He paused, watching Michael intently. "Am I mistaken?"

This time his answer was an almost imperceptible head shake.

"I see," he said, continuing to adopt a nonchalant approach to the subject. Inside though, he was euphoric. At last he was actually communicating with Michael, even if it was silent communication!

"Then I must assume that the girl in the picture is your niece and that you've drawn her holding your hand." He pointed at the place where the two arm lines connected and merged into a single squiggle. "She also looks very happy."

Michael stared impassively back at him, though Loomis noted that his big body seemed a little more rigid than it had before.

"Did you want her to be happy? Even though she was being held prisoner by someone who, to her, must've seemed a monster?"

A small ripple like an electric shock passed through Michael's body. Loomis didn't need any more proof that he'd struck a nerve. He pressed on, alert for the slightest change in Michael's demeanor.

"I find it strange, given that you've shown you have no compunctions about killing before, that you didn't murder your niece when you broke into Laurie's hotel room that night. And you didn't kill her in the weeks following, even though you certainly had plenty of time in which to do it. You kept her clean, reasonably well-fed, and unharmed, at least until the night Laurie tried to take her back. What happened that night that made you change your mind? Were you jealous of Laurie's relationship with her daughter?"

Unmistakably tense now, Michael stared hard at Loomis. Only years of experience with that stare kept the old man from flinching. It was now or never.

"Did you care about your niece, Michael?"

Loomis held his breath as the silent man in front of him hesitated, then inclined his head in what had to be the most emphatic nod yet. He did it again, apparently wanting to covey in no uncertain terms that he had cared about Jamie, and maybe even still did.

Loomis's excitement over this revelation got the better of him, and he didn't think before blurting out his next question.

"Would you like to know what happened to her?" said Loomis, steepling his hands.

Michael's whole body began to shake, as if something barely under control inside him was struggling to get out. There was no doubting the answer he was going to give.

_Yes. _

A cold shiver traced its delicate way up his curved spine as he regretted the rashness of his words. Should he tell Michael the truth about Jamie's condition? If the heartless brute really did harbor tender feelings for his niece, that was definitely a breakthrough. But that also meant that the little girl was Michael's new obsession, and his pursuit of his obsessions always cost lives.

But more than fifteen years of frustration over failing to reach this man who had once been his youngest patient won out over common sense.

"She survived, Michael. You didn't kill her, though if your bloody knife had struck a couple centimeters more to the left, that would not have been the case."

_Only now she wakes up every other night thinking Boogeymen are snatching her from her bed, _Loomis thought to himself sadly. Michael may not have intended any harm to come to the child, but now she's lived through an ordeal that will haunt her for the rest of her life.

Loomis saw that the news of his niece's survival affected him. Michael's whole body sagged like a balloon with the air let out and he released the breath he'd been holding in a great, weary sigh. It was almost touching. Had the fiend been worried about his niece this whole time, maybe even blaming himself for what happened? It seemed too good to be true.

"This is good news for you, I take it?"

Michael just stared straight ahead, giving no sign that he'd heard the question.

"Michael?"

Cold stare.

_Damn him!_ Loomis furrowed his brow in anger as he mentally gave himself a thrashing that would've impressed his father and appalled his mother. He'd played right into Michael's hands! Now the bastard had the information he wanted and would hunt down Jamie again, killing anyone who tried to protect her. Who knows how many people would die this time? T_his isn't the way to do it!_ Loomis wanted to shout in Michael's face. _If you want your niece to love you, act like a man instead of a beast!_

Then he was struck by an idea that astonished him with it's simplicity. It was brilliant, it was dangerous, and it was most likely the only thing that would stop another killing spree.

"She's alive, Michael, and I can bring her to you."

Michael's head jerked up immediately and there was once again a glimmer of life within the eyes of the mask. _You definitely heard that, didn't you_, Loomis spared a second to smirk inwardly, then once again became serious, wondering how in the world he was going to do this. Michael wouldn't wait forever. He had days at the most. Only days to convince scared, traumatized little Jamie to see her fearsome uncle again, and God help them all if he failed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T to be safe

**Disclaimer:** I don't own or make money off of Halloween.

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know it's a lot shorter than my usual huge chapters. But I feel like I've neglected this story for too long and this has scene has been laying around on my PC for ages. So I thought I'd put it up and give you guys a little something to read. S'not fair to keep everyone waiting so long. I keep coming up with different ways to end this story all the time and have yet to pick one. Oh well. I'll think of something. :)

**Chapter Fifteen**

_"It was the Nightmare Man. He's coming to get me, Rachel."_

**-Jamie, "Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers"**

**[O]**

Jamie was so glad to be home again.

Everything in her bedroom looked just the way she remembered it. Her goldfish swam in his bowl on the nightstand next to her bed, having been well-fed while she'd been gone. The shelves on the walls around her bed were loaded with sculptures of mermaids, fairies, and unicorns, along with action figures from all her favorite cartoons. The bed itself was covered with a thick white comforter with delicate pink trim around the edges, and it was almost impossible to see the little girl that lay in it because of the mountains of stuffed animals of all shapes, sizes, and species. Her bedroom walls, painted a soothing shade of lavender, seemed to exhale peace and security. She was finally home.

Sighing happily, Jamie reached out until her fingers brushed against the faux fur of a stuffed giraffe. Hugging it to her chest, she snuggled deeper into the pile of pillows around her. Her mother had just tucked her in and kissed her goodnight, promising not to be far away if Jamie needed anything. She'd left the bedroom door slightly ajar. Jamie had requested that the hallway light be left on, so that a strip of soft yellow light fell across her face.

Jamie heard the TV come on downstairs, a reassuringly normal sound. She closed her eyes and began to drift away.

_Creak_

She was jolted awake by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Heavy footsteps.

_Creak. _

The footsteps stopped right outside her door. The hinges squealed as it was slowly pushed open, letting more light fall across her face so that Jamie had to squint.

A large shadow - far too large to be her mother - stood in the doorway, backlit by the light from the hall. Jamie's heart skipped a beat and she pulled the covers up around her chin as she realized who it was, who it must be.

Her Uncle Michael covered the distance to her bed in a few slow, measured paces. She could see the bone-white mask, along with the dark, empty eyes, and remembered just how terrified he'd made her feel the first time they'd met. Was he coming to kill her? Forcing her yes to stay closed, she pretended to be asleep, too frightened to move or even cry. She sensed him lean over the bed, and her stomach gave a powerful lurch. She tasted vomit in the back of her throat.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and began stroking her hair, just like he'd used to when she'd been upset or afraid. Some of her fear left her then, and she cracked on eye open to peer up at her uncle.

"Uh...Uh...Uncle Mm...Michael?" she stammered, her voice betraying her fright.

Knocking aside some of the stuffed animals, Michael proceeded to unwrap Jamie from the tangled covers and pull her into his lap. His arms wrapped tightly around her, squeezing her against his broad chest. She could hear the steady pulse of his heartbeat under his shirt, accompanied by his ever-present soft breathing, and almost against her will felt herself growing calmer. Part of her - the reasonable, common sense part - knew that she should try to get away, but the huge chunk of her soul that had been deeply hurt by her father's abandonment and that ached for a father figure, wanted him to stay very, very much. She reached up and put her arms around his neck.

With one arm underneath her knees and the other supporting her back, Michael lifted her up and carried her out into the hall. She started to panic, worried about what her mother would do if she found them together. As he carried her down the spiral staircase, Jamie noticed two things she'd missed earlier. One was that there were no longer any sounds coming from the downstairs living room.

The other was that there were wet bloodstains on her uncle's uniform.

When Michael stepped off the last landing, she understood why.

Her mother's body lay on the couch, the TV remote still clutched in one hand. But on the pillow where her mother's should've been laying was a grinning jack-o-lantern, its demonic eyes lit from within by a single candle. The orange flame wavered and danced, making the jagged carved teeth appear to move, as if the macabre decoration were laughing. Blood oozed from the stump of Laurie's neck, turning the dark blue pillow underneath the pumpkin nearly black. Jamie looked around, and gasped as she saw her mother's severed head sitting on the coffee table, its mouth hanging open in a silent scream, the glazed eyes wide open and staring at nothing.

It took a few seconds for Jamie to process what she was seeing. Then stark, cold reality hit full on, and she screamed.

_"Mommy!"_

She squirmed in her uncle's arms, trying desperately to free herself, but it was impossible. Michael continued to carry her away, completely oblivious to the girl's sobs and the mutilated corpse he'd left on the couch. Each step he took left behind a bloody footprint.

"No, no, no!"

Hot tears streamed down Jamie's cheeks as her uncle carried her out of her home and into the darkness of a night that would never end...

**"NO!"**

At Haddonfield Memorial Hospital, Jamie awoke with a scream, sitting upright so fast the IV taped to her arm almost comes loose. Her mother, who'd been watching her daughter sleep, slipped out of the rocking chair she'd been in and sat down next to Jamie. Putting her arms around her daughter, Laurie holds the little girl as she cries, as she'd done every other night since Halloween.


	16. Chapter 16

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T for mild swearing and blood

**Summary:** When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the Halloween characters in this story and make no money from them whatsoever.

**Author's Note: **The good news is: I have decided on an ending for this story that will be cool, exciting, and hopefully make sense! The bad news is: I have major stuff going on in RL right now so I don't know how long it will be before I can post the final chapters. So please, please, PLEASE try to be patient and don't kill me! (Even though you'll probably want to by the end of this chapter!)

**Chapter Sixteen**

B_ecause the little girl... the little girl can stop the rage inside. She knows how to do it, Michael. If you let her, she can stop the rage... the rage inside. _  
**-Dr. Samuel Loomis, "Halloween 5: The Revenge of Michael Myers"**

**[O]**

"Harold, what are you doing out?"

Sam Loomis almost hadn't recognized the short, balding, mental patient, who was the newest inmate of Smith's Grove. Dressed in a gray asylum uniform, the odd little man was aimlessly stumbling around in the corridor, muttering to himself. Or maybe not so aimlessly, Loomis thought. Considering the type of people Harold idolized, it was probably no coincidence that he'd been found dangerously close to the gate that led into the isolation ward where only the most deranged patients were housed. Loomis had been lost in his own thoughts as he and a couple of blueshirted security guards passed through the mazelike hallways of the sanitarium and so had almost bumped into Harold before noticing him.

"Ted Bundy. Born November 24, 1946. Killed 30 people by beating and strangling them. Also engaged in acts of rape and necrophilia." Harold beamed as he recited the facts casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Both of the guards looked disgusted, while Loomis stayed professionally neutral, speaking to Harold in a calm voice. "Yes. Theodore Bundy was a very disturbed man."

"He was a killer," said Harold, His bloodshot eyes misted over as though he were reliving a pleasant memory. Moist, pink lips that protruded too far past his mouth curved up in a lopsided smile that might have successfully transformed Harold's aging features into something boyish and innocent, if it wasn't for the next words that came out of his mouth. "I like killers."

Dr. Loomis regarded the man silently for a moment, then turned away. "Take him back to his cell," he snapped. gesturing to the nearest guard. The old man's patience, already worn wafer-thin by the stress of the last few days, would not hold up for long against a man like Harold, who worshiped serial killers, calling them gods on earth.

One of the blueshirts grabbed Harold by an upper arm and began leading him back the way he had come. The other followed Loomis to an iron gate. Thick bars extended from floor to ceiling; the dark metal standing out like gashes in the otherwise pristine whiteness of the place. From his belt, the guard unhooked a set of keys. After selecting the largest one, he put the key in the large padlock on the iron gate and turned. The gate swung inward, its well-oiled hinges barely making a squeak, and Loomis stepped through, forcing himself not to look back as the gate was shut behind him while the guard waited on the other side for him to return. The gate could only be opened by someone on the outside, a security measure that Loomis had insisted upon.

The halls he now walked were lined with jail cells, like honeycombs in a beehive. Except in place of honey, these cells held the most dangerous, demented souls to ever walk the earth. Rapists, murderers, sadists of all kinds. People who would act out violent delusions on innocents. Torturers that would keep their victims alive for hours, days, or in the most sickening cases, even years. Loomis knew from past experiences that it was the worst kind of hell to be trapped with someone that enjoyed making you suffer.

He ignored the obscene jokes and lewd insinuations that were yelled out at him as he passed some of the cells. Occasionally, he would meet other white-coated doctors with their own security escorts, about to administer sedatives to an unruly inmate or preparing to conduct a therapy session, but only after their patients had been heavily shackled, of course. They nodded to him as he passed, which he acknowledge with a curt nod of his own. He had brought no security personnel of his own, fearing the guards would get in the way of what he had come to do.

Turning down several passageways, he eventually came to a hall with only one occupied cell. Within the darkness, the shape of a man could barely be seen pacing back and forth, like a caged animal.

"How are you today, Michael?"

With great force, the shape inside hurled itself against the bars, striking them with its fists so that for one heartstopping second they rattled as if they were about to give way, causing Loomis to take a few steps back. The white mask appeared, emotionless except for the man's black eyes, the outline of which could faintly be seen within the rubber holes, intense, wild, scorching the psychiatrist with the extent of their fury.

Loomis took a shaky breath, then addressed the angry man, trying to keep his tone of voice reasonable and calm. "I had no choice, Michael. Your impatience was about to ruin everything."

Michael continued to pace, unconvinced by the doctor's words.

Shaking his head, Loomis folded his hands in front of him and looked down. He supposed he couldn't blame Michael for being unhappy. So far he'd been unable to convince Laurie to bring Jamie to the sanitarium. The first time he'd delicately broached the subject over cups of steaming hot coffee in the hospital cafeteria Laurie had refused to even consider it. When he'd informed her that Michael knew Jamie was alive she'd exploded in anger, cursing her brother and vowing to move even further away from Haddonfield.

It was only to be expected that Michael would be less than pleased with this. His behavior had become more violent and unpredictable. He'd attacked two nurses, nearly strangling them with a piece of wire before he'd been sedated. There'd been nothing for it but to sedate him and move him into the dreaded East Wing of the asylum and lock him in a jail cell among this most vile collection of lunatics.

"I will bring her to you, Michael. Just give me more time."

The icy glare Michael gave him would've frozen lava in it's tracks. He turned his back on Loomis, continuing to pace, taking slow, shuffling steps.

There was no point in staying. Loomis started back the way he'd come, deciding it was time to pay Laurie another visit.

[O]

"I swear, Jamie, your hair is impossible"

Jamie yelped in pain as her mother pulled at a tangle in her hair with the comb. "Sorry," said Laurie, who picked up a safety pin. She tucked a few loose strands behind Jamie's ear, used the pin to hold them in place, then gathered up the brown hair cascading across Jamie's shoulders and began twisting it into a long braid. The little girl sat on the edge of her hospital bed as her mother leaned over her, wincing occasionally whenever her mother pulled on her hair too tightly. Still wearing her white hospital gown, Jamie scratched at the spot on her left wrist where the IV had been. A nurse had come in to take it out two days ago and had commented on how lucky Jamie was to still be alive.

She was lucky.

"Mommy, how could Uncle Michael have survived getting shot so many times?"

Laurie stiffened, as she always did whenever Jamie brought up the subject of her uncle.

"I don't know, honey," said Laurie, a little hesitantly. "I guess he's just really tough."

"Maybe I am too," Jamie replied, sounding thoughtful.

Laurie smiled a little as she purposefully tugged on Jamie's hair. "Yes, you are."

When Jamie had regained consciousness after her surgery, Laurie had been forced to come clean to her daughter about everything. How Michael had killed his older sister when he was a still a boy, been locked up for fifteen years, and had finally come after her in 1978. The girl had taken it all in, not speaking or asking questions un till Laurie had finished.

"I think he showed me a picture of Aunt Judith," she'd said, remembering the night she'd been taken to her uncle's childhood home. "I could tell he didn't like her much, but why did he kill her?"

"Nobody knows," replied Laurie.

She'd let Jamie ask questions about Michael's past for an uncomfortable hour. Then she'd made her daughter tell everything that her uncle had done to her while she'd lived with him. She still had trouble believing half of the things she'd said, that Michael had brought her toys, candy, and food or that he'd played games with her or especially that he'd defended her from what the little girl had described as "the hugest rat I'd ever seen." He'd never intentionally hurt her, not even after she'd tried to run away. It just didn't sound like the Michael Myers Laurie knew at all. And Jamie's description of what had transpired out in the forest after she'd run from the cabin had Laurie completely baffled.

That night Laurie had also had to answer the hard, personal questions. The questions she'd hoped she'd never have to answer. "Why didn't you tell me about my Uncle?" Jamie'd asked, and it had taken a tremendous effort for Laurie not to fall apart at the note of accusation in her daughter's voice.

"I just wanted to keep you safe from him, angel," she managed to choke out as she fought back the tears. "I didn't want you to be scared."

"Is Uncle Michael the Boogeyman, Mommy?" she'd asked as Laurie had put the pillow under her daughter's head and switched off the florescent light above the bed.

"What do you think?" she'd asked,

Drifting off to sleep, woozy from the painkillers she'd been given, Jamie had muttered, "He comes to me in my dreams. I think...I think he wants me back. And I'm scared."

Laurie had shivered. And Jamie's nightmares had only gotten worse since then. The one she'd experienced two nights ago had been especially bad.

Laurie forced herself to focus on the present task as she put the finishing touches on Jamie's hair, tying a pink ribbon to the end of the braid. "There you go! You look beautiful!"

Jamie studied herself in the compact mirror Laurie handed her. She did, indeed, look beautiful. Color had returned to her cheeks, which were rounder and fuller than before. She'd put on a little weight during her stay in the hospital, regaining the pounds she'd lost while staying with her uncle. Though he'd apparently done his best to feed her, there had been times when Michael had found very little for her to eat, if anything.

Handing the mirror back to her mother, Jamie said, "Uncle Michael tried braiding my hair once. He didn't do a very good job." Her mother's jaw dropped and stayed that way for a few seconds until she remembered how to move the muscles in her face. "He fixed you hair?" she asked, incredulous.

Jamie nodded while shrugging her shoulders. She became quieter, as though embarrassed on behalf of someone not in the room. "He tried. I guess he thought it would make me feel better."

Breathing heavily, Laurie spent a few seconds massaging her temples, unable to reconcile the image of Michael The Cold-Blooded Mass Murdering Killer with Michael The Doting And Insanely Protective Uncle. The mental image of her brother, who must've had only a vague notion of what to do, attempting to braid his young niece's nearly untamable hair almost made her burst out into a flurry of semi-hysterical giggles. But when she remembered the seriousness of the situation, any humor she felt died and was sealed in a body bag.

She knew from doing ample amounts of research that certain types of sociopaths - a category of humanity that Michael clearly fit into - could be protective and generous to the people they considered to be part of their inner circle while disdaining everybody else, but she'd never once believed Michael to be that type. The possibility that he had fixated on Jamie in this way confused and frightened her.

She jerked away from her daughter to face the door as she heard the tap of a familiar cane.

"Laurie?"

"Go away, Sam!"

Sam Loomis flinched at the icy tone of the woman's voice but dared to take another step forward, bringing him over the threshold and into Jamie's hospital room. "Laurie, we have to talk!"

"No! We are not talking about it! Jamie gets out of the hospital tomorrow! I'm not putting her in danger again!" Laurie stood up and pulled back the collar of her blouse to expose the old knife wound on her left shoulder, which was now a giant lump of white scar tissue. "You know what he did to us. I won't let him hurt her again."

"What are you guys yelling about?" Jamie piped up, glancing from the two adults with a puzzled look on her face. They ignored her.

"Laurie, I believe Michael has managed to form a bond with his niece. Allowing him to have that bond may be the only way to keep him from killing again." Loomis finally turned his attention to little Jamie, whose bright eyes were wide and amazed. She was beginning to understand. "Sooner or later, Michael will escape again. And when he does, he'll come for her."

"No!" Laurie shrieked, getting in Loomis's face. "I'll hide her! We'll move somewhere else!

"Laurie, you can't keep running forever!"

Laurie was about to say that she could always keep running, when Jamie, who had been observing the argument in silence, finally shouted. "I want to see him!"

"What?" Both adults voiced their surprise at the same time. They turned to stare at her.

Jamie fidgeted nervously, but managed to look her mother in the eye as she spoke, "If he's good when I'm around, maybe I can help him get better."

Laurie shook her head. "It wouldn't work, honey. He'll never change." She turned to Loomis, seeking confirmation. "You said it yourself, Sam! 'Pure evil', remember?"

Loomis started to say something, but Jamie cut him off. "He's not evil! He's not!"

"But you're scared of him, Jamie! You had another nightmare just the other night!"

Jamie was nearly crying as she shot back, "I'm not scared for me. I'm scared for you!"

"What?" Concerned, Laurie moved away from Sam and went to sit on the bed next to Jamie. The little girl's voice quavered from suppressed tears as she spoke. "If I don't go to see him, he'll hurt you to get to me."

"But-"

Jamie was almost frantic as she struggled to explain. "He doesn't want to hurt me! I know it! But he'll hurt you if you try to keep him away from me!"

"Honey, he stabbed you."

"It was an accident. He didn't mean to!" The tears couldn't be held back any longer. Laurie noticed them flowing in rivulets down her daughter's cheeks and put an arm around the little girl's trembling shoulders. They stayed in each other's arms for a few silent moments, then Laurie locked eyes with Dr. Loomis, her jaw set in a grim line.

"Where is he?"

"We're holding Michael in a jail cell, Laurie. He won't be allowed out. He'll be able to see and interact with her through the bars and that's all. We will take every precaution."

Laurie snorted and replied in a tone that was resigned yet full of steely determined "Fine, we'll go see him. But if anything happens to her I'll kill you right after I finish him off for good!"

And Loomis knew she meant it.

[O]

That night, a restless Sam Loomis sat at his cluttered office desk with an open journal before him, writing.

I begin to wonder if I'm making a mistake, he wrote, the ballpoint pen leaving a smooth cursive script.  
Against all expectations, Laurie and Jamie have agreed to visit Michael tomorrow. I cannot begin to imagine what that will cost them. He paused for a moment, thinking, then continued to write. Is it worth putting that poor little girl in danger, for she will be in danger despite my claims to the contrary. I am uncertain whether Michael's fixation on his niece is obsession or genuine love. I'd long ago given up hope that Michael had any semblance of humanity left in him. Then his seeming remorsefulness after stabbing Jamie made me consider that perhaps I was wrong.

But what if it had been an act? What if his real goal had been to use me, a foolish old man, to bring Jamie back to him so he could finish the job he'd started Halloween night?

Loomis leaned back in his chair, letting himself sink deep into the cheap leather padding. He knew he should go home and go to bed, but he doubted sleep would visit him tonight.

Once again, he began to write.

I pray to God that Jamie is right and that her uncle means her no harm. God will have to forgive me if anything happens to her, because I will never forgive myself.

[O]

Jamie was quiet and nervously biting her lip as she walked beside her mother through the brightly lit hallways of Smith's Grove, their footsteps echoing off the cold floors. Sam Loomis led the way, along with two of the security men in blue. Michael's cell was all the way on the other side of the building, which meant they had to walk quite a distance to get there. It gave Jamie a little more time to think and attempt to sort out her jumbled and conflicted feelings for her uncle.

Wearing a frilly pink sweater and white pants, along with a pink satin ribbon dangling at the end of her braided hair, she looked far more like the innocent, naive girl she'd been before she'd met her uncle. The girl that had never known abject terror while she lay drugged and bleeding in the backseat of a stolen car. The girl that had never seen anyone die right in front of her. The stitches deep in her chest still throbbed with a dull ache, forcing her to acknowledge the turmoil inside her wounded heart. She felt so many different things for her uncle: pain, love, anger, fear, that she wasn't sure what she would do when she saw him again.

"Jamie, we could still go home..." Her mother said for at least the fifteenth time as she gave the child's hand a squeeze, able to sense by her daughter's downcast eyes and worried frown that she was not quite as confident as she'd been earlier.

"No." Turning back was oh-so-tempting but one thing Uncle Michael had taught her - the most important thing - was that monsters would always find you, no matter how far you ran. What you had to do was stop and face them.

Upon turning a corner, the group encountered a tall iron gate. Jamie jumped half a foot in the air when a short, balding man wearing an asylum uniform stumbled out in front of them. His eyes were wild, darting in all directions, and he talked to himself nonstop in a low, monotonous voice.

"John Wayne Gacy murdered thirty-three boys and young men. He buried most of them in the crawlspace underneath his house..."

Jamie shivered. Her mother pushed the little girl behind her back, getting between her daughter and the weird mental patient. But the man ignored them, instead stepping up to the iron gate, peering through the bars like a little kid at a zoo. "They're lonely." The little man stared wistfully beyond the gate to the hallways lined with jail cells. "They want to play." He grabbed the bars of the gate and tried to shake them. Laurie began backing up, pushing Jamie back with her.

Dr. Loomis, however, looked more annoyed than afraid. "Not again," he groaned. "Harold, come here!"

"Sam, who is this?" Laurie asked, watching intently as the man walked obediently over to them.

"Our newest inmate. He's morbidly obsessed with serial killers of all kinds and can regale you for hours with dates of murders, names of victims, manner of death...he's practically an encyclopedia of unsavory information. But aside from that strange habit, he's quite harmless." Loomis turned to one of the guards beside him. "Richard, take Harold back to his room and make sure he stays there."

"Yes, sir." Richard grabbed Harold roughly by one arm and proceeded to take him away. Jamie craned her neck to watch them go until they finally disappeared around a corner. Then she heard the jangling of keys, and her attention was drawn back to the iron gate as the other guard unlocked it

Loomis stopped to speak to the guard. "Frank, you'd better come in with us. Richard can open the gate when we're done." Frank sighed and looked on with an unhappy frown as the gate swung shut behind him, locking him in with the worst nutcases Smith's Grove had to offer. He hated coming back here, but he would get paid well for it. So after taking a second to mentally prepare himself, Frank obediently followed Loomis into the lion's den.

He would live to regret it. For a little while, anyway.

[O]

A woman screamed behind them.

Heart pounding, Jamie turned to see a woman wearing a white hospital gown shaking the bars of her jail cell. Blonde hair hung down to her hips in sweaty strands and she was skeletally thin. Her brown eyes were so dilated they appeared black. As Jamie watched, the woman's pale face broke into a huge, friendly smile that might've transformed her gaunt features into something beautiful were it not for the utter emptiness in her eyes, the total lack of warmth. "Thought that would get your attention," she said. Her voice was girlish and sweet, but carried a sardonic undertone. Loomis started to move in front of Jamie to shield her from view but wasn't fast enough. The woman's cold eyes narrowed when she saw Jamie staring at her."Cute little girl." She licked her lips, then curled them in a sneer. "So pretty, in fact, that I just want to drown her."

"Shut up, Katrina!" Laurie, Loomis, and Jamie all jumped at the sound of Frank's enraged bellow.

Katrina giggled, flashed him a mocking two-fingered salute, then turned away.

"Crazy bitch," Frank muttered under his breath. Laurie, however, was standing close enough to hear and shot the man a stern glare as her daughter began to cry. "Sorry," he said as he nervously shuffled from side to side. The guard averted his eyes from Laurie and glanced around for something to focus on, eventually resting his gaze on the polished tips of his black shoes. " Her name's Katrina Childress. Been here for a little over a year now. Admitted on grounds of murder, as you can probably tell. We have a lot of crazy bi-" A threatening scowl from Laurie helped the man catch himself in time. "-unstable women in this place, but she's the worst. She just likes to kill. Anything and anyone."

"Mommy, I'm scared!" Jamie sniffled as her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled the little girl tight against her side. "Shhh, baby. It's okay," Laurie whispered into Jamie's ear, trying to soothe her. She snarled at Dr. Loomis. "Sam, I told you this was a bad idea!"

The old doctor's left eye twitched as he tapped the floor with his cane. He opened his mouth to say something when the horrible sound of screeching metal echoed throughout the halls. "Oh god, that would be Michael," said Loomis in a voice that was hoarse from strain.

"What's he doing?" Laurie asked. Her face grew paler by the second.

"Trying to get out of his cell," Loomis answered. "He's become so violent I don't know how much longer we can hold him." The old man locked eyes with Jamie, who shivered. "You know what he wants."

Jamie looked up at Loomis with eyes that were wide and frightened. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes, appearing to draw upon the last shreds of her internal resolve. When her eyes finally opened they blazed with a mixture of fear and resignation and...determination. She pulled free from her mother's restraining arms and sprinted down the corridor, past rows of jail cells imprisoning wild-eyed maniacs, and toward the cacophony of twisting, bending metal.

"Jamie, stop!" screamed Laurie who outpaced a limping Loomis along with the increasingly wishing-he were-anywhere-but-here security guard as she took off after her daughter.

[O]

"Harold, stop!"

Richard emphasized his point by turning around and backhanding the shorter man hard across the face, cutting him off in mid-ramble. Harold's only response to the sudden attack was a blank stare along with a dreamy smile that made the middle-aged, balding man look disturbingly like an overgrown child. "The bodies of the two girls, aged nine and seven, were found dismembered and sealed in concrete slabs. Their blood seeped through the cracks..."

"Goddamn..." Having had about as much of this freak and his gruesome obsessions as he could stand for one day, Richard turned his back on Harold and fumbled at his belt for the key ring that would unlock the door of the small cell before them. "Doctors need to come and give you your meds, you sick son of a..."

Richard had his back turned to Harold and so never saw the flash of the hypodermic needle that Harold removed from the folds of his rumpled uniform. He did, however, feel the sting of it penetrating his neck and the cold, numbing sensation of the strong sedative it released into his veins. Harold had the presence of mind to step back as the security guard turned and took a few staggering steps toward him, reaching out for him in a flailing lunge. Richard managed to get both hands around Harold's neck but his grip was loose, weakened by the drug. He tugged at the collar of Harold's shirt, then his hands slid downwards, his grip slackening as every muscle in his body turned to jelly and his vision blurred. The last thing he saw before his legs gave out like snapped rubber bands and he crumpled down to the cold floor was Harold's eyes, gleaming with crazy joy as he held up the set of keys that had been clipped to Richard's belt.

"Gonna let 'em out," Harold whispered, smiling like a man who was about to make his fondest wish come true. "Gonna let 'em all out!"

[O]

Jamie followed the sounds of rending metal through the starkly lit hallways, pausing just long enough to gauge the direction, then resuming her mad dash to her uncle. Sometimes asylum inmates would call out to her from their jail cells but she ignored the mad, gleefully malicious voices and kept running. Part of her was already imagining what sort of awful punishment she'd get from her mother for doing this, but Jamie hadn't had a choice. She wasn't acting like this because she was brave, rebellious, or reckless. She'd simply known if she'd hesitated - if she'd spent one more moment at her mother's side - her deteriorating courage would've left her completely. Her eyes would've grown huge and teary as she'd begged to go home, a request her mother would've been more than happy to give into her. Then she'd never have the chance to see her uncle again - or worse; she would, only not in the way she wanted. Her actions were driven purely from the desire to get this meeting over with and let whatever was going to happen happen.

She skidded a few feet as she rounded a corner, regaining her balance just as the noises that had guided her here stopped. Panting heavily, she raised one hand to brush strands of sweaty hair out of her eyes...and then froze, for at the end of the corridor was a single cell. Only the iron bars on this one were bent at crazy angles as though they'd been hammered by an overly enthusiastic blacksmith and, as she peered into the darkness within, she could see the glow of a very white, very familiar mask.

She knew he must've seen her because he'd gone absolutely still. Swallowing hard, Jamie managed to croak out, "Hi, Uncle!"

Michael reached out through the bars, curling his fingers, making the old gesture he'd always used when he'd wanted her to come to him. Slowly, very slowly, Jamie approached the cell.

She stopped just out of his reach, a mere two feet away from the tips of his fingers. A tiny droop of his head was the only outward sign of his disappointment. He continued to reach for her.

Unsure exactly what she wanted to say to him, Jamie blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Are you okay?"

He responded by pointing at her chest.

She quickly interpreted the meaning behind the action in a rush of intuitive understanding. "I'm okay." He tilted his head and she offered him a hesitant, shy smile. "I'm tough, just like you."

He stared at her for a long time, offering no outward sign of what he was thinking. Nervous, Jamie was about to back away when he pulled his arm back into the darkened cell. A moment later his hand reappeared, this time holding something out for her to take. From where she stood just beyond his reach, Jamie could tell it was a piece of notebook paper, folded and lightly crinkled at the edges.

She took a step forward.

"Jamie, don't move!"

The little girl jumped in fright at the sound of her mother's voice. Laurie and Dr. Loomis were just rounding the corner, both of them breathing heavily. Laurie's eyes gleamed with a mixture of shock, anger, and near frantic anxiety. She marched briskly towards Jamie, intending to pull her away to safety.

But Jamie's curiosity overruled her common sense. She crossed the distance to her uncle and, with a shaky hand, took the paper from him and unfolded it.

It was a crayon drawing of a spider sitting in the center of its web. Its fat body and sprawling legs were colored in gray. And Jamie vividly recalled the day her Uncle Michael had taken her out into the forest where she'd told him all about the children's story of the misunderstood, bloodthirsty, and tragically heroic little gray spider.

Charlotte.

Jamie felt her throat tighten and had to swallow a few times before she managed to whisper, "Thanks, Uncle." She started to back away, all at once feeling very sad and tired.

Unfortunately, accepting Michael's gift had also put her well within his reach...as he'd known it would. Jamie never saw him move his hand; she only felt it grab her wrist as she held onto his drawing, then begin forcefully pulling her towards him. Jamie struggled weakly, fearing that she would be smashed up against the fast-approaching iron bars. But the bars were so horribly bent from Michael's frenzied assaults upon them that there was just enough space for her to slip between them as her uncle hauled her through. She shook her head, dazed, having gone from being outside to being in the cage with him in less than six seconds. From somewhere close by, she heard her mother's high-pitched scream.

Jamie felt herself being lifted up by her armpits. There was time enough for her to catch a quick glimpse of her uncle's white mask before she was crushed against his chest. She squirmed in his arms, beating ineffectually at his chest to gain a few inches of breathing space, when it suddenly dawned on her that this smotheringly tight embrace was supposed to be a hug. She became still as she heard soft little moans coming from the back of Michael's throat, as though he were struggling to make his vocal chords obey him for once.

One of his arms circled below her knees, supporting her on his hip, while the other wound around her back. His hand moved up to the back of her head and she once again felt his fingers in her hair. With tears in her eyes, Jamie tentatively reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. She closed her eyes as she rested her cheek against his shoulder.

"Michael! Put her down!"

Jamie felt her uncle's body go rigid at the sound of his sister's voice. Glancing up from her uncle's shoulder, she saw her mother staring at them with an unidentifiable expression on her face, as though she couldn't decide whether to be angry, frightened, or annoyed.

He responded with a defiant glare. Slowly, he began backing up, taking Jamie with him into deeper shadow.

"Michael!" Laurie's desperate shout echoed throughout the corridor. She took a few steps towards the cell but was blocked by Loomis, who grabbed her shoulders in an attempt to hold her back. "Laurie, calm down!"

Suddenly, the lights went out, plunging them all into total darkness. A second later they were replaced by the red glow of emergency lighting as an alarm began to blare.

"What the...?" Loomis was cut off mid sentence as something heavy struck him in the back of the head. Dark shapes began to materialize out of the red glow. To Jamie's horror, all of them converged upon the unconscious Loomis, the security guard, and her mother.

One of the dark shapes resolved itself into the short, balding visage of Harold. He grinned and proclaimed in a singsong voice. "Cat's away." Another, more feminine, shape stepped forward, revealing itself to be the woman they'd seen earlier: Katrina Childress.

Her smile was cruel, filled with the promise of horrors yet to come. She turned to Frank, who was struggling to get his gun out.

"Mice are gonna play."

[O]

**End Note:** Be prepared for a lot more gore in the next chapter. Heads, as well as other body parts, are gonna roll!


	17. Chapter 17

**Title:** Stolen Innocence

**Rating:** T to be safe

Disclaimer: I don't own the Halloween characters and make no money off them whatsoever.

**Author's Note:** I've gotten a couple of requests to turn this story, as well as my other story "What He Wants," into Jamie/Michael romances. (Yes, Darknessrising101, I'm looking in your direction. ^^ PM me sometime and we'll talk.) While I'm no longer opposed to the idea of Jamie/Michael romance (I like the whole forbidden love thing, too, and anyway there is Michael/Laurie slash out there so if those two can commit incest in a fic and get away with it then the sky's the limit.), "Stolen Innocence" will be wrapping up in just a few more chapters and I haven't decided whether or not I'll be continuing "What He Wants" all the way into Jamie's teenage years. So as long as Jamie is still a child, I can't really pair them together as lovers without going waaay over the Moral Event Horizon into a place that would be terrifying, but not in a good way. Anyone who wants to read a Jamie/Michael romance fic should check out Everlasting Life's story "Behind Those Hazel Eyes," She hasn't updated in a while, but maybe if we all hit her with reviews that'll change. :)

One more thing. I've split this chapter into two parts to save my sanity, or whatever's left of it. I said there would be more gore in this chapter and there is some, but the real messy stuff will be in the next installment. Hope you're not too disappointed! :P

**Chapter Seventeen**

_Michael Myers is a killer shark in baggy ass overalls..._

**-Freddie Harris, "Halloween 8: Resurrection"**

**[O]**

_No! No! This isn't supposed to happen!_

That thought crystallized with subzero clarity in Jamie's mind as a wave of cold, bright fear drenched her body from the inside out. She was still aware of Michael's strong arms pressing her up against his chest, but everything else within her mind and body felt numb, paralyzed. First had come the initial shock of being pulled inside the jail cell by her uncle - a surprise that, while unexpected, had not terrified her as much as it should have, _sneaky uncle!_ - that had barely begun to fade before the lights had dimmed into a sinister blood-red glow that illuminated some areas while plunging others into total darkness. Through the crooked bars of the jail cell, Jamie saw dozens of shapes emerge from the darkness at the end of the hall. Some shuffled, others glided with a scary, predatory grace that reminded Jamie of the blue and white sharks she'd gotten to see once in an aquarium. She remembered how the sharks had gone nuts when a diver jumped in the tank to feed them, how their streamlined bodies had violently thrashed and churned up the clear water as their hungry jaws feasted on chunks of raw meat Scraps of torn flesh had dyed the blue water pink as the animals sated themselves. Afterwards, the diver explained that when a group of sharks smell fresh meat, they lose control and go into a feeding frenzy.

The people outside the cell were sharks. And the meat they smelled was her mother.

Laurie was kneeling next to the fallen Dr. Loomis, gripping the collar of his coat and shaking him roughly in an effort to wake him, but it was no use. Loomis's head bobbed back and forth on his shoulders, limp and unresponsive. Jamie could see her mother's lip's moving, but whatever she was shouting at the old man was drowned out by the wail of the alarms. After a few more intense shakes, she let go of the doctor's collar and stood. Her gaze swiveled from one menacing shape to another as she took in the overwhelming number of her opponents, her body growing tenser with each passing second. The security guard - Frank or Hank or whoever, his name had flown from Jamie's mind just like everything else unimportant had - was still trying to pull his gun free from its holster. Beads of sweat dripped into the man's eyes while his hands shook, so that his movements were clumsy and slow.

They were going to die.

Jamie gulped air in ragged, shallow pants as that horrible truth shattered the freezing paralysis of her mind enough for her to remember how to scream. "Mom! Mommy!" she cried out. She was drawing in breath for a third scream when her uncle clamped one of his calloused hands over her mouth, silencing her. The figure standing closest to her mother jerked its blonde head up and Jamie found herself looking into the mad, dilated eyes of Katrina Childress.

She returned Jamie's stare with a cheerful smile that temporarily transformed her haggard, gaunt face into something childlike, almost cute, except that her eyes remained filled with malicious glee. Turning back to regard Laurie. she purred in a voice that was pitched high enough to be heard over the alarms, whose earsplitting wail had mercifully begun to diminish into an intermittent buzz.

"So you're the little one's mother? You do realize, don't you, dear, that your baby girl is in a cell with the notorious Michael Myers, whose killed even more people than I have?" Katrina sighed, then shot Michael a faintly disapproving glance. "I don't like being outdone."

"I know who he is," growled Laurie. Her gaze remained on Katrina while she struggled to keep fear and panic from showing on her face.

"Why don't we leave the two of them alone so that -"

Katrina was cut off mid-sentence as the security guard finally whipped his gun out, and pointed it directly at her forehead. His finger pulled back on the trigger.

At the same time, Katrina's right hand flew up and her strong fingers wrapped around his wrist. She wrenched his arm to one side just as a the barrel of the gun spouted orange flame. Jamie flinched instinctively at the gunshot. A cry went up from somewhere behind Katrina, followed by the sound of someone moaning in pain.

Looking completely unconcerned, Katrina maintained her inhumanly strong grip on the security guard's wrist. Her red lips spread into a sweet smile that showed the dimples in her cheeks as she applied pressure. The man's expression became suffused with pain as his wrist was squeezed until the sound of crushing bone became audible, mixing with his scream.

When she let go of his wrist, Jamie could see blood dripping from holes where the sharp tips if bones had come through. In the reddish light, his blood appeared nearly black.

"As I was saying," Katrina addressed Laurie in a conversational tone, ignoring the security guard who whimpered in pain as he cradled his mangled wrist, "why don't we leave Mr. Myers and your daughter alone together so they can get acquainted. I'm sure he'd like to know her better, inside and out." Raising the hand that had crushed the security guard's wrist to her mouth, she daintily licked drops of his blood from her fingers. "Or inside out."

Laurie looked sickened as Katrina finished licking her fingers. "What?" Katrina asked looking genuinely confused as to the cause of Laurie's expression. Her face fell as her entire demeanor changed, becoming almost defensive. "I like blood. To watch it flow. To see it spurt up in little fountains. And I get treated like a freak for it!"

Snarling, she grabbed the collar of Laurie's sweater roughly in both hands and pulled, bringing her almost nose to nose with the other woman. "Do you think I'm a freak?"

Jamie strained to hear her mother's reply, but it was drowned out by the ever-present alarms. Whatever it was had an immediate effect on Katrina. She drew back the hand that she'd just licked clean of blood and slapped Laurie hard across the face, then gripped Laurie's cheeks in both hands, digging into her skin with yellowed fingernails grown abnormally long.

Katrina must've said something to the people around her because two shapes detached themselves from the general darkness of the mob. They approached Laurie, drifting like blobs of ink until a beam of red light revealed them to be two women. They wore white hospital gowns identical to Katrina's, the material of which shone crimson beneath the emergency lights, and were without shoes or socks. One had bright red hair that fell down clear to her slim waist. The other had a heart-shaped face framed by ebony black curls that were cropped close to her neckline by someone who, judging from the crisscrossing paths of tiny scars that stood out like white and purple ribbons on her skin, evidently gotten very friendly with a pair of scissors. She ambled forward to stand next to her redheaded companion and Jamie saw that both women's eyes looked dull and glazed, as if they were robots following orders. Despite that, they were both strikingly beautiful.

"Raven, Rose," Katrina hissed. She pushed Laurie toward her two helper's. "Take her." Obediently, the two women grabbed Laurie's arms. "I want to know what her blood tastes like."

They began pulling Laurie back down the hall. The security guard made a desperate lung for Katrina, who sidestepped it easily and grabbed him by his wounded wrist. He crumpled to the floor as she squeezed. She bent down to whisper something in his ear. His eyes widened to the size of quarters, then he began thrashing wildly in an effort to pull away from his tormentor, who simply laughed and started dragging him by his crippled arm.

"No! Mommy!" Jamie sobbed, watching helplessly as her mother struggled in vain against her captors. Using all her strength, she managed to get one arm free. Jamie watched, her vision blurry with tears, as her mother lunged forward, heedless of the nearby psychopaths, focused on nothing except getting to her daughter. But the redhead acted quickly, grabbing the arm reaching for Jamie and pulling it back. The snap of bone was followed immediately by Laurie's agonized scream. As she was being dragged away by both arms, the right one now bent at a sharp angle, Jamie caught a glimpse of her mother's eyes and they seemed to reflect her own fear. Then she was hauled around a corner and out of sight.

Jamie twisted around in her uncle's arms, trying to see his face. Why wasn't he doing anything? "Uncle, please! We have to -" Her breath caught in her throat, then exploded out in a scream as she turned far enough to look on him directly. Underneath the red light, her uncle's plain white mask had become a glowing devil's face, all sharp angles outlined in hellish fire, fronted by two empty pits for eyes and black lips that curved into an evil-looking smirk.

"Uncle?" she whispered. Fear for her mother became compounded by fear for herself. She wasn't with her loving uncle anymore. She was with the Boogeyman.

A shuffling footstep from outside the cell drew Jamie's attention away from her nightmare kinsman. Michael, too, became intensely focused on the outline of the man approaching them. The figure moaned pitifully, walking bent into a crouch while pressing a hand against its stomach as though it were in pain.

"Help me..." A jolt of recognition went through Jamie as the faint, trembling voice of Howard drifted to them. A shaft of light revealed him, and Jamie gasped. Bent nearly double, his fat cheeks puffed out like a toad as his shuffling walk brought him closer and closer, while whimpering in agony after each step. Jamie's eyes were drawn to a dark stain spreading across his midsection, dampening the gray asylum uniform. He kept one hand pressed against the wound, which elicited thick squelching sounds as beads of blood seeped through the spaces between his fingers. Realizing he'd been shot. Jamie suddenly remembered the cry of pain she'd heard after the security guard's had tried to shoot Katrina and missed.

"Help me, please..." he moaned, continuing to lurch toward them.

Jamie felt her uncle's whole body stiffen and thrum with tension as Harold held up the keys he'd stolen. With hands smeared in his own blood, Harold began unlocking the cell door.

The key clicked home. Harold swung the battered door open.

"Help me, Mikey...!" Harold tottered forward, holding his hands out beseechingly. Jamie held her breath.

When Michael struck, he did it with efficiency and purpose. Jamie felt herself jostled roughly as he shifted her to the crook of his left arm. Then she watched, wide-eyed, fascinated despite her fear, as his free hand shot out to wrap around Harold's throat. Gasping for air, the little man brought his bloody hands up to feebly claw at the iron-tight fingers choking him, only to splutter and cough as he was soon lifted completely off his feet. He spent a few seconds dangling helplessly in Michael's grasp, his eyes bulging and legs kicking, then was hurled several feet across the room. Jamie didn't need to see to know when Harold struck the opposite wall; the sharp crack his skull made as it connected hung in the air as her uncle stepped forth from the cell, still carrying her in his arms.

Wiping away tears, Jamie leaned back to look up at her uncle and reached out a hand to tug at the collar of his uniform, trying to attract his attention. "Uncle, wait! What about my mom?" Michael continued walking, giving no sign that he'd heard her. She was about to try again when, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed something moving. Following her uncle's intensely focused gaze, it didn't take her long to spot them.

There were still clusters of people outside the cell. Jamie could vaguely distinguish the faces of asylum men and women, their disturbed expressions rendered even more alarming by the red light. Most of the escapees were just wandering aimlessly about, obviously shocked and confused as to why they'd been let out. The rest watched with the unwavering interest of hungry animals as Michael approached them, and Jamie found she no longer had any objections at being locked within the relative safety of her monster uncle's arms. She half-expected the unleashed maniacs to close in on them, surround them like they had her mother, but they all hung back when Michael stalked among them, as though he were surrounded by an invisible aura of power. Without sparing a second glance at his fellow inmates, her uncle swam through the sea of predators like a killer shark, graceful and fearless and absolutely lethal. The crowd parted to let Michael through, giving him the respect he deserved. They knew he was not one to be messed with.

Or at least, most of them did.

One man stepped out to block his way. He was young, probably in his mid-twenties and was, Jamie realized with a shock, completely naked. Thick tufts of hair grew over the muscles of his chest and lower body. Jamie cringed against her uncle when his roving gaze focused upon her and his mouth twisted into a wide, lascivious grin.

He spoke in a voice that was low, almost soothing, "Little girl. I like little girls. Can I hold her too?" The scent of his breath wafted to her. It was horrible, like spoiled meat soaked in root beer. Jamie could practically feel the temperature drop as her uncle stared down at the man. Without waiting for an answer, the man reached for her and Jamie, sensing what was coming, squeezed her eyes shut tight and hid her face against her uncle's chest. The man never even had time to scream. A crunch, then a gurgle, followed up by the deadweight thump of a body hitting the floor. Then they were moving again, her uncle stepping high to carry her over the fresh corpse on the ground.

No one else got in their way after that.

Jamie felt her despair growing as her uncle turned down a side corridor opposite from the one her mother had been taken. Distant screams could still be heard, terrified shouts and cries for help, but they were growing fainter by the second. Michael kept on walking, heading toward the unlocked security gate and freedom, and Jamie felt a sick lurch in her stomach. Her uncle was going to leave his sister behind.

"No! Uncle, we can't leave her!" Jamie squirmed in his arms as flashes of the nightmare she'd had just two nights ago came back to her, only this time she wouldn't be able to wake up. Michael, blinded by his possessive, greedy love, wanted to steal her away and keep her as his prisoner for the rest of her life.

_"Noooo!"_

[O]

Laurie concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to keep a cool head and not give in to blind, mindless panic. To say it wasn't easy was an understatement.

For one thing, her right arm felt as though it had been hollowed out and filled with broken glass. A single twitch sent spikes of agony racing along her nerves. She'd briefly lost consciousness as the psychopaths were dragging her through Smith's Grove. By sheer willpower, she'd fought her way back to wakefulness and was slowly adjusting to the pain. In a way, the pain was helping by keeping her alert. Though her vision was blurred and constantly slipping out of focus, she'd managed to get a rough idea of her location.

She was lying on a gurney in an operating room. Cold, bright light shone down from a lamp above her head. Turning her head from side to side, she could see metal trays of gleaming surgical instruments placed on shelves and tables throughout the room. Rough velcro straps rubbed against her wrists and ankles, binding her to the gurney and limiting her movement.

A low moan off to her left indicated she was not alone. Locating the source of the sound, she took in the sweaty, bruised face of the security guard, who lay bound to a second gurney, injured and as helpless as she was. Blood still dripped from his mangled hand and his chest heaved as though it took a huge effort just to draw breath. She opened her mouth to call out to him when a woman interrupted.

"Oh good! Everyone's awake!"

It took Laurie's pain-clouded brain a few seconds to recognize the cheerful, insane voice of Katrina Childress. Laurie caught sight of the psycho and her two companions standing next to a wheeled dolly loaded with heart monitors, needles, and bags of a milky white substance. Now garbed in a nurse's uniform, Katrina gave the dolly a shove, sending it careening out of control. It crashed up against a wall, then tipped over, so that everything on it clattered to the floor. Laurie watched a syringe full of sloshing clear liquid roll to a stop beside one of the broken monitors, which now sent up sparks and little wisps of smoke.

"We won't be needing that," said Katrina. "Anesthesia takes the fun out of vivisection."

Blinking tears of pain and fear from her eyes, Laurie watched as Katrina approached her redheaded associate - some corner of Laurie's disoriented mind recalled that her name was Rose - who held out a tray of knives, scalpels, and forceps. Inspecting them, Katrina tapped her index finger against her chin, then selected a thin scalpel that tapered to a point so fine and sharp it was difficult to see. Grinning at her assistant, Katrina crowed happily, "Thanks, Rose! I knew you'd find me something special to work with!" Rose's lips parted as she made a noise of pleasure, then began to twirl so that her read hair fanned out around her slim body in firey waves. Scalpel in hand, the madwoman walked in a slow, leisurely pace toward the nearest gurney. The security guard's weak protests intensified as Katrina turned the blade in her hand so that it gleamed scarlet when she strolled underneath one of the red emergency lights.

"And what is vivisection, you ask?" Katrina walked slowly, deliberately, until she stood at the head of the wounded man's gurney, looking down on him even as the man leaned his head back to look up at her. Laurie's fear and dread increased when Katrina placed the tip of the scalpel dangerously close to the man's left eye.

"It's the practice of dissecting an animal - or a human - while it's still alive."

The security guard gritted his teeth as Katrina raised the scalpel, though he couldn't hold in his screams when she plunged it into his eyeball. A small geyser of fluid sprayed up from the ruptured organ. When she pulled the scalpel out, the bloody eye came with it, trailing a small bit of optic nerve, which unspooled like black, glittering thread before it snapped.

The guard howled curses at his tormentor as he thrashed and pulled against his restraints. His blue uniform was now soaked in sweat.

Struggling to keep her gorge down, Laurie could do nothing but watch as Katrina clapped her hands in childlike delight at the pain she was causing. Her two female companions, identical except for the color of their hair, watched with what might've been mild curiosity, their heads tilting in a way that reminded Laurie chillingly of Michael.

Sensing that her turn had come, the black-haired woman glided forward, brandishing a pair of scissors. The blades opened and closed with little metallic snips.

"I'll take those, Raven," said Katrina, who hurriedly plucked the scissors out of the other woman's hand. "I remember what happened last time you got your hands on a pair of these."

Raven still looked pale, stiff, and lifeless as a mannequin, but something in her eye's flickered, giving Laurie the impression that Katrina's admonition had upset her.

"I'm not holding it against you." Katrina's tone was defensive; apparently she'd caught the same subtle cues that Laurie had. "It's just that this is delicate work we're about to do."

Using the scissors, she began to cut away the security guard's shirt.

"Leave him alone! Haven't you hurt him enough?" shouted Laurie.

Katrina shot an irritated glare at her. "What? You can't wait until it's your turn?" She continued to cut away the blue fabric of the shirt until the guard's naked chest was exposed. Satisfied, she passed the scissors back to Raven, who opened her mouth to press the sharpened steel points against her tongue. Then Rose handed her something that caused Laurie, who'd assumed she'd reached the pinnacle of terror already, to close her eyes and silently will herself not to see, hear, or sense anything that might happen in the next few seconds. Because if she knew that a crazy, sadistic harlequin of a nurse was carving the man lying next to her open with an enormous bone saw, she'd abandon whatever remained of her dignity in a bout of hysterical shrieking.

_I hope Jamie's all right._ She thought of the last time she'd seen her daughter, caught by surprise, swept up and into the enthusiastic embrace of her uncle. She couldn't deny that Michael had seemed so..._happy_... when he'd finally gotten ahold of Jamie again. If really did care about her, Jamie might have a chance of getting out of here alive.

Laurie doubted she herself had any chance at all.

_Michael, please, if there's anything good left in you, please take care of my little girl. _

A tear slid out from beneath her closed right eyelid to mark a wet path down her cheek.

Laurie drifted into a resigned trance as the bone saw revved to life and the atrocity began.

[O]

"Uncle! Please! We have to go back!"

The daughter of Laurie Strode writhed in her uncle's arms. She pounded his chest with her small fists while kicking out with both feet. Michael's only response was to tighten his grip on her, making it impossible for her to get away. Exhausted, Jamie felt at any moment she might break down from frustration and hopelessness. "Uncle, why are you doing this?" she sobbed in his arms. Her misery must've been evident, for he finally looked directly at her, though still wearing the awful, hellfire-red face.

_He's the Boogeyman,_ Jamie thought. Sudden insight caused her to bite her lower lip so hard she drew blood. _He's the Boogeyman, but somewhere in there he's still my Uncle. _

Before she could stop to think about what she was doing or what the consequences might be, the little girl wrapped both arms around Michael's neck, got a firm grip on the black hair at the back of the mask, and quickly pulled the false-face off.

[O]

Michael couldn't believe he was doing this.

He'd had every intention of abandoning Laurie. Going after her would've been dangerous, especially if he had to take little Jamie with him. And leaving her to die in this hellhole of a sanitarium would've been such a sweet way of paying her back for all those nights he'd spent lying awake in bed or staring out a window, hoping that one day his little sister would come to rescue him. _She deserves to die,_ he thought with more than a little vindictiveness and spite. _And I deserve have Jamie all to myself. _

_I hope Laurie suffers like I did. _

Heading for the gate that led out of Smith's Grove and to freedom, a child-sized bundle cradled in his arms, he'd amused himself by imagining the types of tortures that might befall his baby sister.

Until his niece had surprised him once again, the little _sneak_.

Now, as he stalked through smokey hallways filled with giggling madmen, pools of blood, and panic-stricken doctors in search of his sister, he mentally berated himself for allowing Jamie to make him weak by unmasking him. Though, to be fair, that act only proved she knew him better than anyone, and therefore belonged to him. He'd been startled when the familiar rubber had come off in her hands, confused, even a little angry. She'd been lucky he'd shown his face to her once before, otherwise he might not have been able to stop himself from hurting her. With the cool, filtered air of the asylum blowing against the rough skin of his face he'd stopped in his tracks to stare at her. That had been a mistake. He'd been jolted out of his sadistic reverie by her shining, tear-streaked face, the desperation in her brown eyes as they rose to meet his, forming a connection. Saw the raw fear that brought back painful recollections of the day he'd lost control and killed a man right in front of her, robbing her of her innocence forever.

"Please...please help my mom!"

Michael was torn. If she had made any other request of him, he would've been happy to comply but this...?

It was unsettling how well the child could read his thoughts, for she assured him, "I won't leave you again. I...I'll stay with you forever. Just, please, save my mommy!"

He'd decided. Today was going to be Laurie's luckiest day ever.

Red lights flashed on and off above him as he stepped around another corner. Up until now, he hadn't encountered very many bodies. This corridor was littered with them. Nurses in rumpled, bloodstained uniforms lay strewn about discarded toys. One of them was still alive, whimpering and crying, bleeding profusely from a hole in her belly while trying to drag herself past the butchered corpses of her friends, so that she oozed blood behind her like a crushed snail. Stepping over the crimson stream, Michael felt a strong urge to put the injured woman out of her misery, but resisted, knowing that he needed to stay focused on the task at hand. There was no time for those sorts of indulgences now.

As he walked among the dead, he spared a glance at his niece, who he held in the crook of his left arm, to make sure her eyes were shut. They were. He didn't want her to see any of this.

His frustration deepened after descending a flight of stairs and finding nothing but empty jail cells and more dead bodies. How was he even supposed to find Laurie in this mess? He clenched his right fist and drove it into the nearest wall, cracking it and leaving an imprint of his knuckles in the plaster. He felt Jamie's body go rigid in his arms as she was startled by his violent outburst. Forcing himself to calm down, Michael took slow, even breaths and ran his bloodied fingers through his niece's long hair.

_I've always found Laurie before,_ he thought. The sound of his boots echoed off the walls as he stepped over one mangled corpse after another. Everything down here was quiet and still, which prompted him to fall into a detached state of calm awareness. _Something will guide me to her._

A moment later, the screaming started.

It was the roar of a grown man in extreme pain. It continued without pausing, accompanied by the high-pitched shrieking laughter of a woman. And then a third voice joined the cacophony. "Stop it! Stop it!"

_Laurie._

Jamie heard it too. "Mommy!"

His sister was in serious trouble, all right. The prospect of a real fight made Michael's blood grow hot from anticipation.

But he couldn't take Jamie with him. Moving quickly through the halls, his eyes scanned every empty room he passed, searching for a place to hide her. He decided upon a small janitor's closet, which contained only a mop and a few buckets of cleaning supplies. Setting Jamie back on her feet, he pushed her toward the open closet door. There was just enough space between the buckets of bleach and turpentine for the little girl to squeeze in. Settling herself on the floor, she pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapped both arms around her knees, and looked up at him trough the curtain of her long hair. Her lip was trembling.

"Be careful, Uncle!"

He felt the weakness around his chest again, those tender emotions she could so easily bring out in him and, kneeling down, he put his arms around her in a quick but powerful hug. Upon letting go, he tapped the end of her nose gently with his right index finger, a silent promise that he would be back soon.

He stood, shut the closet door, turned his back on it, and followed the screams to his target.

**[O]**


End file.
